Oblivion
by The Golden Hierophant
Summary: Famine, disease, and technological ruin turn a world savage. Cloud Strife leads a confederation of desperate survivors in the years that follow Meteor's fall. His doubts and secrecy driving him away from his wife, Tifa, forces her to ally with the most unlikely man to preserve peace. Good men become Leviathan, and the line between justice and tyranny erodes. CloTi. SephTi. AU.
1. Chapter 1

Oblivion

" _No matter how much time passes, no matter what takes place in the interim, there are some things we can never assign to oblivion, memories we can never rub away." –Haruki Murakami_

Chapter 1

* * *

Life burned Sephiroth. It thudded in his ears, roared through his veins, and flowed into his nostrils on the air. He opened his eyes only to close them quickly in the sudden onslaught of light. _Where?_ Lucidity bled into his blind awareness. _How?_ The man pulled himself to his knees and held his palm before his eyes. He blinked slowly. Memories flit through his mind with no definite fixture. He shoved aside a mountain of paperwork on his desk in Shinra HQ. No, that wasn't right. He walked up a brittle stairway into a musty reactor.

No.

He remembered now. A broad blade cut him down. His power spent, Sephiroth felt himself careen backwards and die. He'd been so close to realizing his and Mother's mission only to have that…that _failure_ thwart him. Sephiroth peered within, reaching out with tendrils of his consciousness for _her_ soothing touch. Mother was with him always, her intent a bell-like hum that led with precision. He sought her out as only he could and found nothing. No hum. No vision. Void. He hadn't been alone since he discovered her on that fateful day. Sephiroth was more than unsettled.

Perhaps he was still healing? He still didn't feel quite alive, but everything was becoming more real by the second. He was cold and hungry. The stony earth told him that his feet were bare. Truth be told, he was wearing nothing save for the threadbare remnants of his SOLDIER's uniform pants. Where was he? The strange glen divulged none of its secrets. Fissures of white limestone overgrown with moss and creeping vines told him that he wasn't too far from the coast. From his kneeling position, he cupped a little water from a meandering stream nearby to taste. Brackish, unsuitable for drinking. He let it fall through the sieve of his fingers and stood unsteadily. How long had he lain here? Hours? Days?

Sephiroth reached reflexively for his blade, the Masamune, and cursed under his breath when his hand grasped air. No materia, no weapon, and weaker than a newborn, he might have laughed at the absurdity of it all if he hadn't been so panicked. Hunger dazed him. He strode forward, fighting his buckling knees, and spied a large, sturdy branch, which he seized. It was no sword of course, but it was good, live wood with a green-ringed core. It would have to do.

He exhaled sharply. Everything was a still a muddle. The blistering light, the disintegration, the all-consuming blackness…the death of sound and thought, remembering it sent a new spurt of nausea through his roiling guts. Twigs snapping in the distance brought him back into the moment, and he tensed, his fingers tightening around his branch. Very still now, he thought, his eyes penetrating the green abyss that yawned out before him. Where did the movement come from? His left? Nothing. Just a small animal. Proceed. He trudged through ground that gave way to wet peat. A patch of chicory loomed ahead. Purple blossoms bobbing to and fro on an eddy of emerald. Staring ahead, he recalled survival training that seemed almost a lifetime ago. Chicory plants were good foraging. Pick out the young plants, he recalled. Every part can be eaten raw.

He plucked them greedily, not bothering to see that the roots were entirely free of soil, and after he had devoured two heaping handfuls. He took a moment to breathe. Though not quite sated, it was enough, but he would something real, some meat…anything, and he was dying for a drink of water. There it was again. The weakness. He hadn't felt this way since before…before? Before, he found Mother. He had evolved past base human need. What happened to him? Where was Jenova? Why couldn't he feel her? A flurry of feelings bowled over him. No, keep the fear at bay. Focus on what's real. The anger, the betrayal, and the hatred. His rage was what sustained him, kept him moving forward on his mission in the past, but he felt so strangely vacant.

Sephiroth dropped the branch and clutched his head. Perhaps he had eaten too many chicory flowers. Yes, that was it. He was sluggish. Nothing more. He wanted to scream, to tear at his hair, and rend the earth with his fingertips. He'd never been so lost, so confused. He drew a sharp intake of breath. _Calm yourself_. Everything would explain itself soon enough.

 _Focus on survival._ Survival was finding water in this pristine wilderness — water that wasn't ruined with salt or mud. He wandered in a stupor until he happened across a thick blackberry bush. Fat and deep purple, the berries glittered like jellied drops of wine and smelled as strong. Sephiroth cleared an entire stem not caring for whatever scurried across them. He was almost drunk on the flavor, his tongue thick with thirst. The branch lay abandoned, his back open to the forest.

"What in the name of Gaia…" came a gruff exclamation.

Sephiroth leapt to his feet at once and turned toward a rapidly whitening burly man.

 _Make this quick. Draw no attention_. Sephiroth didn't have to assume that he loathed around the world. He dove for man, reaching for the rifle, but he was too slow.

"Like hell you will!" the man parried and paced backwards, "Hey, Johnny, get the boys and the hounds and get o'er here right now!"

Damn. Sephiroth didn't need this now. He ran for the deep brush past the thickest muck of the bog. He sucked his teeth to keep from screaming when a heavy maw set itself deep into his ankle.

"Holy shit. Is that…" another man joined the other.

The first answer, "I don't know who that is, but the boss will damn sure be interested. Because, it just can't be. It can't be him. C'mon."

No, Sephiroth wasn't going to wait around for this. He fought against the pain, panting as he seized the dog's throat. He didn't want to imagine how it'd ripped his flesh as he freed himself. He almost swooned at the pain, but this was survival. With a strength that he hadn't been able to muster since reviving, he flung the beast and heard its spine snap against a tree trunk with a sickening crack. Rifle fire sounded in the air as he rounded about on his pursuers. No materia, no magic. No Masamune, no defensibility. He grabbed the nearest stone and chucked it at a small wiry redheaded man's skull. This must've been the Johnny who'd just spoken. The voice was the same when he collapsed to the ground with a shout. Sephiroth dove behind another tree for cover.

"Goddamn it," that was the burly man. He fired off two more rounds for the rifle, "Somebody get Johnny up. Check on him. Simon, with me."

Sephiroth panted for the briefest of moments and then willed his breath to be still. Another dog whined at his tree, giving away his position.

"Come out, whoever-the-hell-you-are, come out right this damn second," the rifleman fired another shot that echoed throughout the forest and shook the treetops like thunder. That was close. Sephiroth could see the round smoking in the earth not too far.

All that was left was a gamble.

"Small words from a mite like yourself," Sephiroth spat, summoning all of the authority that he could muster in his voice. He strode into the clearing, blood streaming freely from his torn ankle. He wouldn't collapse. He wouldn't scream. He would appear strong. Frighten them. His life depended on it.

"It really is you. Oh my god, oh my god," this must've been Simon, a black-haired, gangly thing with a quivering pistol fixed right on him.

Sephiroth stared down on him imperiously and scanned the scene. Five dogs. No, four. He'd mortally wounded one which lay immobile and keening. Six men. One down. Three armed. One bearing supplies. Water?

"I think that you'd better leave. Leave me your pack, and I may spare your lives."

The rifleman swallowed and stopped himself from shaking, "And what puts you in the position to make demands? What are you really?"

Simon calmed too, "I bet you that he's some sort of sick, crazed fan…or, he could be a clone. What then, the boss would want to see him, right?"

This wasn't going as planned, and Sephiroth was just about out of steam.

"I say," Johnny said, somewhat recovered but wheezing and clutching a bloodied eye, "We put a bullet between those damn snake-like eyes of his. Let the boss look over his corpse"

"That wouldn't be wise," Sephiroth strode closer, but a blare of sound, fire, and light cut off whatever he had to say next

Flying backwards, dumb and in shock, Sephiroth fell. Blood pumped out of his abdomen. He tried in vain to staunch the wound with hands. A coughing fit seized him, and his mind worked wildly. Who was this boss? Johnny staggered over him only half visible as Sephiroth's vision dimmed. The other man clutched a large jagged rock and slammed it into his skull. Unconsciousness took him.

* * *

A/N: I'm taking another crack at writing a Tifa/Sephiroth story. This will be similar to Glimpses of Normalcy but primarily told through Sephiroth's perspective, and it will also be more plot-driven but expect significant character development as the story unfolds.


	2. Chapter 2

Oblivion

Chapter 2

* * *

This afternoon, Tifa wasn't sure if the world was real. She pressed the keys to her grand piano in the unused second bedroom but couldn't quite feel the melody. It'd been too long since she last played. The breeze borne on the high sea wind wafted through the curtains. Late summer's perfume invaded her senses — hibiscus blossoms wilting, fried boardwalk clams, battered softshell crabs, and salt above all. She tapped her bare feet to the tempo without enthusiasm. Cloud would be out for hours. He told her not to wait up for him. They were supposed to have been commemorating five successful years of reconstruction since Meteor's fall and Shinra's collapse with other local mayors from the Corel Area and fishing towns down the coast, but that had been postponed without any reason — any reason that Cloud had deigned to share with her and the public at least.

Her fingers caught themselves up at a tricky part of the tune. It was an old bar song from Nibelheim. The series of complicated scales would feel more raucous to her if she'd been playing with a lager-fed warmth filling her. She really missed her tavern days. Those were the real moments, but that wasn't suitable for who she'd grown to be in the reconstruction years. The song soured under her touch, as if the piano itself knew that her heart wasn't in it. She covered the keys and strode onto the balcony. A storm was sweeping in rapidly from the sea. Pastel trawlers bobbed like little candies on the choppy waves. She could bet that some fishermen had lost their hauls as they fought to reach the docks. She'd be needed along the coastline with Cloud's most of men on patrol.

Mako-mutated nautiluses that the locals called beach-plugs swarmed the oceanfront in the worst of storms, and from the blackening sky and sharp pang of lightening that streaked off in the distance, Tifa could read that this was going to number among those. She slotted her materia in her gauntlets, almost glad for the distraction, and raced out of the door for the shore. The first fat drops of rain dampened her well-worn tank. She wasn't afraid of a little water. A stocky Nibel-bred mountain girl like her was used to nearly any extreme weather after having hiked those impossible peaks.

Tourists ran for their hotels and condos as the rain grew in intensity. One by one, bar owners and restauranteurs boarded up for the day, flipping open signs to close through the prettied-up display panes of their businesses. A premature night gripped Costa del Sol, and the city of sun took on a sickly green aura. Soaked to her skin, Tifa emerged onto the vacant beach and saw them hovering just above the waves – floating preternaturally with bulbous heads encased into gnarled, spiked shells. The beach-plugs' tentacles whipped about in the wind violently, and they tore as each other with as much gusto as they did at the few unfortunate fish that the squall had beached.

Surveying the scene, Tifa spied a few guards further down the coast. Only marginally trained, they struggled against a group of six. She raced toward them. One beach-plug had downed one of the guards was dragging him out toward the sea. She hissed, releasing all breath to channel her thought into a single intent.

"Beta," Tifa shouted, and a flurry of fire engulfed the monsters, sparring the men. She checked over the injured one. Even beneath his helmet, she could see that he bruised and bloody, but he was breathing. She looked up at the other, "You there, get him to a medic."

"Are you sure, Mrs. Strife?" The other asked with a shade of concern coloring his tone, "There are still plenty more of these things floating out of the sea."

She flashed him her best winning smile, "I can take care of it."

The six that she'd killed lay smoking on the beach, giving off a sickish smell of burned sea bream and rot. Weak but vicious, Tifa thought, as she watched the guard support his companion to the clinic. Turning back toward the sea, she saw that more floated onto the shore and hovered just above the waves. They glowed in the darkness. Thunderclaps and lightning streaks rendered their bioluminescence all the more eerie. The wind whipped her long dark locks around her face, but she, herself, remained calm — apart from the violence on the coastline and in the sky.

She fired another spell at the latest lot that swarmed toward her, taking down four more. The magic flowed through her, out of her fingertips in several streams of the most brilliant light. It invigorated her, making everything more real and vivid. She could feel the whispers of lost knowledge echoing through etches on the materia in her gauntlet, lost voices speaking through her. She felt so alive in this moment, but then the spell ended, and she was left drained and somewhat cold. It would be better to ease back.

The beach-plugs must have sensed the danger, as the groups nearest to her had begun to float down toward the uninhabited coves. It was fine if they tore each other apart down there. It wasn't Tifa's problem, but one lingered. It was larger than the others. She made out shining green eyes on either side of its head. It was almost as if it were staring her down with a look of either defiance or hunger.

Tifa pulled herself into a taut fighting crouch, one leg pulled forward toward the beast. A flash. Deafening thunder overhead shook sand. Tifa lunged for the beast. She dove beneath one of its thick tentacles that'd lashed out at her head. The beach-plug snapped its maw. She raised a leg and leapt into a twirling kick, landing a solid blow one the side its shell. A mighty crack formed in the side exposing flesh, but it wasn't dead by a longshot. This was a bull of the species. That much was apparent from its territorial behavior. The monster from the depths slapped back out at her, slapped her across the back and sent her flying several feet backwards in the sand with a hard clunk.

That would bruise. Tifa caught herself quickly. She repositioned herself into a dance for a roundabout assault. Three more solid blows on the shell would kill it, but in that moment, a figure rushed past her and cleaved the creature into two.

Cloud! He was a magnificent blur of speed and precision. A thrill of warmth ran through Tifa as she examined her husband's broad shoulders and taut torso.

He turned and smiled at her with equal warmth but then said, "What in the world are you doing, Tifa? You'll get the flu in this weather."

She shrugged taking his hand after he sheathed the Buster Sword, "I had to come out here. The town was undermanned with whatever you had to take care of earlier. What was going on anyway?"

"There's been…an incident. Let's get inside first," Cloud released her hand, stiffening suddenly.

She looked at his face and saw that a sudden, dark scowl had seized his features. Something was off. Her pensive Cloud brooded true enough, but this was different.

"Tell me now." She pressed him further.

"No, it should wait. Trust me, Teef."

Now, she knew it was serious. Cloud never used her nickname unless he was stressed. They walked through the streets in near silence. The rain pooled in dips in the red cobblestone that paved Costa del Sol's roads. Shutters flapped in the gale, but the thunderstorm had lost some of its force. Already the darkness had begun to move further inshore, but a gloom still hung over Tifa.

Cloud hadn't said one word as they walked back from the beach. She could feel the tension radiating from him like the steam that rose from water flecks hitting a hot skillet. She hated seeing her husband like this. There was no one who knew him better, but even still when he fell into these foul moods, he was unreachable to her. She could read the displeasure in his tight shoulders and wanted to sooth away those worries with her fingertips, but she traded watching his back for the palms, the late afternoon sun filtering through their fanned leaves through the clouds like slivers of a promise of better days. Deceiving, Tifa thought for no reason on which she could solidly put her thumb.

Their villa rose ahead, the largest on their block with its soft sandy stucco façade. They passed through the gate and Cloud unlocked the front door, waving Tifa in behind him.

"How about a cup of tea?" Cloud inquired.

Tifa nodded, caring more the news and less for the tea.

She began to follow him in the kitchen, but he shooed her away, waving his hands, "You should really change first. You're drenched."

Tifa shrugged, but he had been right. She'd begun shivering as soon as she gotten back into the house. All the adrenaline had drained out of her, and she felt like she'd sleep like a log tonight.

Upstairs, jeweled dragonflies hung in the midday musk, no doubt having come through the balcony door which she left ajar from earlier. She sifted through her clothes, haphazardly selecting a flowy summer dress that billowed from her bust in a pastel peach. It was worn, comfortable. She'd never been too much for fashion. She toweled her hair, raked a comb through it, and regarded herself in the mirror. She was the woman of her own house.

Tifa joined Cloud in the kitchen, and he slid a steaming mug toward her.

"Chamomile," she breathed and admired the delicate perfume that the blossoms exuded.

Cloud hadn't looked up, and his own mug lay untouched, "Your favorite, I know."

"You know how my Ma used to chop up the first blossoms that grew up along the crick." Tifa's eyes sparkled as she thought back to those simpler days when she followed her mother, muddy and barefoot through the footpaths foraging for wild roots and berries.

Cloud merely grunted, tracing the lip of the mug with his fingers, "Teef, I'm not sure how to say this, but first, I want to say that I'm sorry."

There it came again — the tension. Tifa's dreamlike mood thoroughly dispelled, she placed a hand over her husband's, "What is it? You know you can tell me."

A cold pit began to form in her guts. There were a million possible worries coursing through her mind. Had something happened with one of their friends? She and Cloud had invested in a big way with several reconstruction projects. Was something wrong with any of those? She drummed her fingers against her cup, her eyes steadily focused on Cloud.

"Sephiroth is alive." Cloud whispered.

No words. Silence. She felt she might be sick, and she couldn't breathe. Think, Tifa, think, her mind screamed at her. Cloud gripped the hand that covered his firmly and reached out for her other which had been beating out an erratic, mad rhythm.

"Breathe, Tifa," Cloud pleaded and stroked her hands, "We've got him contained. My men found him wandering through the marshes south of here."

Tifa could only speak one word, "How?" What she'd meant to say, wanted to say had floated out of her body and beneath the floorboards. How could he be alive? Was their struggle worth nothing?

"I don't know how, Teef," Cloud said, "But, I can tell you that we will make it through this. I have to make it. We've got him jailed and shackled at an old confinement center on the edge of town."

"Confined!" Tifa's voice took on an edge of hysteria, "Why didn't you just kill him? You should have cut off his damn head."

"Calm down, Tifa."

"I won't!" She seized her hands his, knocking over the tea mug with the sudden frenzy of motion. Amber liquid spurted in a hot sheen across the wooden kitchen isle where they'd been sitting, and the cup shattered on the floor.

Cloud cursed, jumped up, and seized a dishtowel to soak up the spreading tea.

"Forget the tea, Cloud," Tifa shouted, "What were you thinking?"

He threw down the rag and seized her shoulders, "Keep your voice down, will you." Cloud whispered hotly in her ear. Tifa could feel his fingers shaking, "If we killed him then who is to say that he wouldn't just return again, somewhere further and where he has more of a chance to recover? We found him while he's weak, injured, and besides…"

"Besides what?" Tifa interrupted him, fixing him with a strong glare.

"This may be what we need to consolidate support around Costa del Sol."

"Politics?" Tifa exclaimed, slapping his hands away.

"Not politics," Cloud said, his face coloring with a sudden anger, "Security and unity. Peace. We're not in the clear yet, Teef. Don't let what's out there fool you. There is still a great deal more reconstruction to do."

She shook her head, "Don't you dare suggest that I am complacent. I know exactly what it took to achieve this. I can't believe you. Do you know who you sound like?"

"Don't you dare make that comparison, Tifa." Cloud's eyes took on a dangerous gleam.

She shrugged and pushed past him, tiptoeing over the broken glass and back to their bedroom. She slammed their door, letting the noise reverberate with all of the rage and confusion she hadn't expressed, and locked it.


	3. Chapter 3

Oblivion

* * *

Chapter 3

Sephiroth awoke to the acrid odor of something like a matchstick but far more intense and stinging. It singed his eyes as he opened them slowly, blinking against the flood of fluorescent light. He sat in an altered dentist's chair, all chrome and silver cushioning to match the lab's sterile simplicity. Hojo's lab. How was he here of all places? He looked down at shackled limbs, far too diminutive to be his, and suddenly it struck him, he remembered this day.

And, there was the good doctor chattering away with an assistant who kept shooting him distinctly uncomfortable glimpses.

"Today we are going to test the specimen's regenerative capabilities. I am sure that my masterpiece will shrug this off in an instant." Hojo chuckled.

Sephiroth steeled and struggled against the shackles, but it was no use. He knew what was coming next.

Hojo strode toward the man turned boy and patted his head with the reverence one might have for a good dog.

"Please don't," Sephiroth pleaded.

"Now, now, my boy. You are advancing my work, and it's for the greater good. Come over here Dr. Ayala. You'll get to observe firsthand the effects of hydrofluoric acid on skin. Hold still, boy."

The assistant walked over gingerly and adjusted his gas mask, his brown eyes shining with perfect horror, but still he lacked the humanity to stop the act.

Hojo lifted a needle from a nearby working bench and sedated Sephiroth, "This will still you, boy," and then he turned to the assistant adding, "Mind you, we don't want it too strong. This mild sedative will let us observe the effects to the fullest."

Dead limbs, eyes unsteadily focused, and mind reeling, Sephiroth cursed and prayed to wake soon. Hojo's black, lidless gaze burned with an interior zeal as he glowered over Sephiroth's right arm. Carefully, he opened the hydrofluoric acid's container which he'd especially prepared as an eyedropper to apply more easily to the boy's unmarred flesh, and Sephiroth marveled at how much it looked like water.

One drop, then two, and finally Hojo smiled, pouring a small wave down his arm. Dr. Ayala stepped back, writing vigorously. His eyes behind his mask conveyed both fright and awe. It burned so intensely. Sephiroth almost expected a sizzle to accompany the sloughing folds of his skin that fell away. They all sat silently for a few minutes. Sephiroth, wanting to scream but unable, made a deep whining keen in his throat that was somewhere between a gurgle and groan.

"And now," Hojo breathed, lifting another eyedropper bottle, "We neutralize it and wait."

Another substance splashed against Sephiroth's skin, and though it diminished the pain, everything still hurt. It seemed as if the light itself pulsed in rhythm to his ache. He was glad his vision was too glazed with unshed tears to see the full mangled extent of his arm, but from what he could see, there was no skin. Only fine capillaries and thickening blood foaming with the white ooze of the fat that once formed his arm remained. His arm was meat.

I will kill you, I swear, Sephiroth thought. He wanted to strangle Hojo with his hate.

He wanted to escape this place with every ounce of desire he could wring from his heart. The daily tests, the training, the unanswered questions — everything made him want to die. He was sure even from his briefest encounters with formal education that a normal childhood was not this Hell.

"Marvelous. Look, Ayala, look. His flesh is already beginning to knit itself back together. Are you timing this?" Hojo asked, his gaze never leaving Sephiroth's healing but bruised arm.

"Yes, Professor. Regeneration began at 17 seconds," Dr. Ayala answered.

"Hmm," Hojo frowned, "I am sure that we can make this faster. Recalibrate some variables. Maybe we should revisit the specimen's diet or increase the injection rate. I am concerned that the interval between injection cycles is far too long."

"But, Dr. Gast…"

"Damn Dr. Gast. I am the lead on Project S. I will revisit the metrics and make adjustments as I see fit."

"Yes, Professor."

Strange that it was that memory which should flood his consciousness as he slept, Sephiroth thought when he opened his eyes. That was a lifetime ago, but the world that bled into his vision wasn't too dissimilar. He lay on a rough raised bed in a standard eight foot by six foot room. The door was sealed with no exit latch on his side. The thin slit that allowed him to see where he had been was also sealed shut, and there were no windows just the dank stench of stale piss and vomit from a none too clean cell in an unknown prison.

As in the dream, he was shackled or rather wore manacles on his wrists and ankles, and he remembered these or rather their prototypes. They'd been engineered for prisoners during the war with Wutai to keep the captured too weak to rebel. He'd thought it was ingenious at the time to weave thin threads of materia into the metal, imbuing it with nearly every known negative enchantment that they knew. It saved his and his men from draining their mana on recasting slowing or poisoning spells on the men that they rounded up over and over again, but Sephiroth could burn all of these manacles in a great fire for how he felt now. Upon standing, a great wave of nausea hit him, and he was very much tempted to throw up what little he'd foraged from the marsh in the corner where the rusted toilet sat.

He steadied himself, closed his eyes to stop the room from spinning and checked himself over. His wounds had healed. Yes, thankfully some things were still right with the world. His torn ankle was no longer dripping blood and sinew but looked smooth except for the redness. It still throbbed, but he would live. His abdomen was another story. That hurt like someone kept skewering his right side with a red poker. He supposed that the flesh had healed around the bullet which would be problematic if he didn't get it out soon.

He opened his eyes and near the base of the door, he spied of some brown gelatinous mass he assumed was supposed to pass for stew and hard roll crusted over on one side with mold. There was a toddler's serving of water in a small paper cup, the kind one would see lounging next to a water cooler, untouched.

"Well, prisoners can't be choosers," Sephiroth smirked to himself and grabbed the tray, trying to quash the indignity that flared up in when he looked down on what very well may have been fetched from someone's trash.

Above it all, he would survive. He would always survive.

Sephiroth drank the water in one gulp, and it hit his throat like a blessing, only partially cooling the dryness of death. He fiddled with the roll, scrapping off the mold as best as he could and dipped it in the soggy stew, eating with as much vigor as he could. There were no utensils. They expected him to eat like a dog, or perhaps, they still feared him. There was no need to worry. Their little manacles were effective for now.

With a steady mind and full stomach, Sephiroth placed the tray to the side and closed his eyes. He sat cross-legged with his hands firmly placed on his knees as if in meditation and reached within himself into the depths of his mind. He focused on the light, the light that he saw whenever he reached out to his mother, the Blessed Jenova, and visualized it with all the brilliance that was her due.

He called with words that no man could speak or even understand through normal means, "Come to me, Mother. Lend me your strength to free myself."

His mind lifted outside of his body and floated beyond the room. He saw the five heavily armed guards who stood on the other side of the door, but there was no Jenova to answer his call. He strained for her, grasping desperately for the tendrils of her consciousness. Silence grasped out back towards him. All his strength spent, his mind came crashing back into his body. He collapsed onto his bed, panting. Why had Mother abandoned him? A small voice at the back of his mind answered but with another explanation — one which he particularly dreaded, Perhaps, Jenova is dead. He fought back tears and hysteria. No, that was not the answer. She was not dead. She was his protector, his one true ally in this world. Without her, he was alone.

Alone! He hated the loneliness. He'd always been alone, weak, and unwanted. But, her death made perfect sense. He'd felt so thoroughly undone upon his revival in the marsh. Her consciousness, her knowledge seemed like an extension of his own body. Her wants were his, but now they were gone. He felt no desire to fulfill that old destiny. Simply put, he felt lost.

He raked his hands through his hair, unsure of what to do next. He had no purpose, no direction, but he was certain that he had to leave this place.

"Good morning, Sir. The prisoner is secured just as you specified." Sephiroth heard from the other side of the door.

Good, he would finally meet this enigmatic boss for whom he was captured.

A flurry of feet, the beeping of code being entered into the door, and then there he was. Sephiroth's heart could have stopped. Cloud, wild blonde hair and ice blue eyes fixed in a flurry of hate. He'd traded the old SOLDIER uniform that he had pilfered for functional fatigues with no obvious affiliation. The oversized Buster Sword strapped to his back made Sephiroth ache for his own blade.

"Well, well, well," Cloud said, smiling frostily as he entered the room, "You know, I could hardly believe my ears when they said that the Great Sephiroth was their catch for the day, but you know my men most certainly are not liars. It is you."

"Cloud," Sephiroth spat. He'd harbored no antipathy toward the infantryman when they'd first met. One rifleman was like the next, but Cloud niggled his way into Sephiroth's hate, and that only intensified on the day that he died at his hand, the boy striking him down with his stolen power.

"Boys, I want you to come in and get a look at the Silver Demon that devastated Wutai," Cloud motioned for the guards to join him. He gripped Sephiroth's face with one hand, "You took Johnny's eye." He pointed toward one of the guards who now bore a gauze eyepatch. The tuff of red hair and smattering of freckles stood out in Sephiroth's mind. He took him down with a stone in the marsh.

"You see, Sephiroth," Cloud growled, "My boy Johnny is a survivor like me. He's Nibelheim blood, and he was up and ready for action within a day when they got back to base dragging your sorry ass for me to see. Johnny, how do you want to pay Sephiroth back? Eye for an eye?"

Johnny shuffled in his boots, but Sephiroth could see that his hate extinguished his fear, "Sounds good to me," he said, drawing a wicked, toothed dagger out of a sheath on his left side.

"Do what you will. It will just grow back. I can't say the same for yours," Sephiroth said flashing him a wicked smile, but he couldn't be sure, not with Jenova's power having fled him. Yet, he would never let them see him afraid, see him hurt. Johnny lifted the dagger, and all he knew was blackness after hearing the sickening squelch of his eye being dashed out of his head.

Another memory. The crunch of soft snow on rough brick in a muddy village square. They called this place Nibelheim, the land of mist from some long dead and forgotten language. There were smaller outposts that dotted the mighty Mount Nibel further up the peak, but this was the largest. It was his point to establish contact and collect local intel on what had been happening around the reactor. It was easy to get here now that the land had been leeched of mako. His convoy had driven through thick fir forests all the way here, and then there was stark bareness. He had been warned that the anti-Shinra sentiment here was high. Some local upstarts had started an underground organization protesting the corporation for recent harvest failures.

The mayor bowed over himself to make him and his men feel welcome, but the people were lean and ragged, shooting him and his fellow SOLDIER Zack dark looks through only slightly ajar doorways and pulled back curtains.

"Man, the vibe in this place blows," Zack announced in a childish whine.

The mayor flushed, "You have to forgive them. Everyone's frightened with the attacks that have been happening in the night."

A teenage girl in a cowboy outfit ran across the way to join them in the square, kicking up dust as she came closer.

"Tifa!" The mayor exclaimed, flushing further. He eyed her scant outfit with more than a little disdain, and the pearl-colored bodice and short skirt left little to the imagination.

"Sorry, Pa. I was just getting in from a trip to one of the outposts further out the way. Sorry I'm late."

Zack whistled lowly, and Sephiroth noticed that one of his infantryman stiffened very suddenly. She was pretty true enough, but she was only a girl nonetheless.

That didn't stop Zachary from stepping forward with his hand outstretched and wide white teeth gleaming, "I'm Zack, SOLDIER First Class."

"Well, Zack," Tifa took his hand and tipped her hat, "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

The mayor stepped between them with a sudden scowl, "As you may have caught on, this is my _daughter_ Tifa. She is the local surveying expert. Now what did I hear about your going out on those trails? Don't you know it's dangerous out there? I told you explicitly to wait until the men arrived."

"Oh psshaw, Pa. I needed to get some medicine up to Farah's gran around the way. She isn't doing too well, and besides, you know I can handle myself. I know all of these footpaths like the back of my hand," she chimed, and then she fixed Sephiroth with wide, crimson eyes. Her mouth formed a perfect little circle, "You're the Great Sephiroth. Well, color me scarlet, I'm pleased to be your guide."

"Quite," he said, taking her small extended hand in his, "I trust your skill will be invaluable to this mission." Her wide red eyes gave him pause. They were unlike any other that he'd seen before. He mused with himself later that they were doubtlessly a genetic mutation brought on by the abundance of mako within the mountain. Nothing special. She'd been merely blessed not to be cursed with some untoward deformity.

Sephiroth awoke with a start. His eye throbbed horribly, but a brief test confirmed he could see out of both. He examined himself as best as he could in the reflection off of the toilet in the corner. The eye was bruised a nasty greenish hue as expected and covered with a white film, but it was healing.

There was more food, more water, left to fester within the heat of the cell, but Sephiroth ate, thinking. He didn't know how much time had passed between his death and rebirth. He was assured that Rufus Shinra's little imperial project collapsed when Meteor fell on Midgar, obliterating the company's headquarters if not leveling the city entirely. He had no inkling of the scale of destruction at large, and filed that into the unknown quadrant of his mind, but there was more. Cloud was in a position of power. What was he in this place, and how and why had he gotten here? Just how much time had passed? He'd seen him only briefly, but the man had aged. Four or five years. Maybe six, he estimated.

The last pressing question was where was here exactly? Midgar, rebuilt? That was a possibility, but he hadn't thought they'd travelled far. Who was to say? Knowing the brackish marsh, he'd put them near a shore. That was all he knew. He forced himself to think of the vegetation in the forest, but nothing stuck out at once.

Suddenly, someone had drawn the slit on his door back, a helmed guard looked in on him through visor.

"The prisoner is awake, Sir," the guard said, closing it once more.

The door to his cell opened. This time there were five guards and Johnny.

"On your feet," Johnny pointed at rifle at Sephiroth, "We're moving you temporarily. Any funny business, and I won't hesitate to shoot you."

Sephiroth slid the tray to his side and did as he was told. Raising his hands in surrender, he followed two leading guards out of the prison. The wheels in his brain reeled. Johnny's wound had been properly dressed with a more permanent covering. From his experience on the field, he knew a wound like that took four or five days to heal when aided with materia. That's how long he'd been out when they'd gouged out his own eye. He knew from Hojo's lab that his body had taken days to heal particularly traumatic injuries when pushed to its limits, and the manacles certainly hadn't helped. He glanced down at them as he walked down the hallway. The prototypes were locked with a key, but these had no obvious locking mechanism. Sephiroth smirked. A mechanical lock could be picked, but an electrical one could be short-circuited.

They climbed into an elevator, Sephiroth secured in the center with Johnny's rifle still at his back. They were going up several floors. This was Shinra designed. The ground floor had been repainted, scrubbed clean of Shinra's red for a fierce blue. A banner emblazoned with the slogan "Security and Unity" was fixed against the wall.

Interesting.

They walked through glass doors into the brilliant sunlight, which blinded Sephiroth for the briefest moments. He covered his still weak eye, narrowly missing the rotten tomato that sailed past his head.

"Murderer!" a woman shouted from a crowd amassed outside of his jail.

It was to be expected. His revival was no longer secret.

Johnny called out to crowd, "Break it up! We're escorting this prisoner to town hall. Don't make our jobs any harder, people."

"He's responsible for my father's death. What did he ever do to you, you bastard?" someone else shouted. This time a rotten apple struck him cleanly on the temple, smearing him with filth.

"That's enough!" Johnny growled, "Disperse now, or I am calling you all in for disturbing protector action."

Protector…that was a new position. Was this what Cloud called his little ragtag defense force? Ever learning, Sephiroth surveyed the town. Costa del Sol had grown immensely. There were numerous buildings that he hadn't recognized. As they walked down the lane with all traffic blocked for his relocation, Sephiroth spied the first seeds of inequality that festered in Cloud's new order. Makeshift housing on the outskirts of the city sat rapidly built and already looking shabby. There was minor graffiti here and there. All of it indecipherable to Sephiroth. No obvious civil unrest, which he catalogued in his registry of unknowns.

As he approached town hall, he felt tonight would at least be _informative_.


	4. Chapter 4

Oblivion

Chapter 4

* * *

The garlicky aroma of lobster meat, scallops, mussels, and conger might have been enough to make anyone within a half mile radius of Costa del Sol's town hall salivate with a single whiff, but Tifa had no appetite. All morning, she'd supervised the preparation of the hall for the fellowship dinner that she would share with the local mayors from the fishing communities that dotted the shoreline and from further inland. The hall had been repainted in the most dazzling gold. Cloud had commissioned a mural to be painted on the vaulted ceiling. It depicted a scene of workmen building one of the new residential blocks that lined the outermost edge of the town. That was their vision five years ago. They would rehouse the refugees of Midgar, pick up, and carry on. A mother stared tenderly down on her from the scene with a swaddled baby held close to her breast.

This was the future.

All around her, men and women sipped the first vintage of wine from grapes their compact had so carefully grown. It had been hard, breathing life back into fallow land after the reactors shut down. People were afraid of the poisoned earth. They had to recreate the lost knowledge themselves, zoning wide swathes of land for revitalization and clean-up. All the villages had donated a fair share of their hauls from the sea to prepare the sumptuous bouillabaisse on which they all dined. Tifa glanced down on the room from the balcony. No one else had any issue breaking a crusty loaf in half and scooping up a last little of broth in the bottom of his or her bowl. Her spoon quivered in her grasp. She just couldn't bring herself to eat.

Reeve Tuesti who sat at left side in a place of honor at the Founder's Table, tapped her arm with concern, "Tifa, just looking at you…I'd say you're upset. Is everything okay?"

"I'm fine, Reeve," she said, smoothing over an errant curl in the up-do that she'd just barely managed to style an hour after ensuring that the hall was set. She flashed him a gentle smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. His dark gaze softened. Flushed with good spirit and equally good wine, he let the matter drop.

Knowing that Sephiroth would enter the chamber any minute escorted by Cloud's men made her want to shout. The knowledge had been eating her up inside, and coloring with shame at the thought, she felt terrified. Terrified of knowing, of soon seeing the man who had brought her the greatest pain. No, she wasn't okay, but she could be jovial for tonight. She could be Cloud's rock because she was certain that this was no easier for him than it was for her, but she couldn't understand his logic. Why hadn't he just executed him and do away with the risk once and for all? She swished her spoon violently around in her bowl and cleaved a bit of scallop meat in two. The buttery white flesh sank beneath the rich golden broth.

She could feel Reeve's eyes on her again. Why did he have to be paying attention to her? Everyone else was either wrapped up in their food or conversation. Cloud was bantering with Barret over expanding the mines in the New Corel. She sighed and settled for a little conversation, steeling herself with a deep swig of the tart white wine that had been paired with the dinner course.

"So, Reeve," She began, turning to face him more fully. Tifa still couldn't quite grasp that this lanky, tanned man with his angular aristocratic features and tousled waves of raven black hair spoke through that animatronic cat armed with a cartoonish megaphone. Her grin widened with time-deepened affection for him, "What are you working on at the moment?"

"Oh," he said, thinking doubtlessly over a half a dozen projects in various parts of the world. He fiddled with a sleeve that could use a little fixing. Tifa spied that a button was missing, and his tie was a bit stained. He pinched the bridge of his nose, "There is a project that sticks out in mind. My team and I are trying to improve public transit in Junon with solar-powered buses, but I'm afraid it isn't quite off the ground yet. I was hoping that I could talk to Cloud about implementing something similar here once we make a little more headway…"

Tifa nodded. Reeve could drone on for hours about some project or another once he'd started. He was a tinkerer at heart, but what she admired most was that everything he had ever done had been targeted toward the public good. His conversation saved her from her own dark thoughts until the doors to the hall opened.

Silence fell, and all of the air may have been very well sucked out of the air for no one spoke, drank, or even breathed in that moment. Sephiroth shambled into the room wearing his piteous rags that barely passed as pants. The bare-chested general seemed like a tamed beast in his glowing manacles. Tifa could see Cetra runes weaving themselves along the surface. She locked eyes with him then. Crimson met with steel ingots of aquamarine. Something had happened to him. He looked nearly blind in one eye with a wicked scar thickening into a callus over it. Matted hair, blank expression, and filthy, this Sephiroth was to her more a sad echo than the specter who had haunted her dreams all throughout the night. Her heart betrayed her, and she was almost moved to pity. Almost.

"Friends!" Cloud stood, calling out to the wide chamber from the balcony where they sat. It was as if someone pricked a balloon in that moment. A flood of whispers filled the room.

The mayor of Gongaga who sat in the first level nearest to where Sephiroth stood looked scandalized and rose from his chair, "What is the meaning of this?" He questioned, pointing a shaking, accusatory finger at Sephiroth.

"Calm down, Haines." Cloud answered and bade the man to sit down before raising his voice to the room again, "My friends, we gathered here to remember the long past five years of our struggle since Meteor's fall. We lived through the energy crisis, the collapse of leadership, the famines, and the weather disruptions, but we are here today to tell stories about those awful times. We survived!"

The nervous clamor that'd seized the room began to die down, and the others who'd stood up to join the mayor of Gongaga either to march or stampede out of the room paused for a moment enraptured by the cadence of Cloud's words. Tifa looked up at her husband then who stood at her side with his glowing eyes that smoldered like azure coals, "That man." Everyone turned to look at Sephiroth now who hadn't moved a single muscle since he'd entered the room.

"That man," Cloud continued, "Threatened to steal away the very air that we breathe. He wanted to kill us all out of some cowardly vendetta that he had against the Shinra Company. That company and that man symbolize everything that we are not — cannot be in this new world, and by means unknown to me yet, Sephiroth has come back to life. I can guarantee you one thing, friends. He will never threaten another one of you again. No child or mother will die by his hand in the world of the new order. As our grand confederation grows ever closer, there will be no Sephiroth or Shinra that can stand against us. Our fellowship in this room at this moment is the beginning of a new era. Security and unity!"

"Security and unity!" the room thundered in reply.

Tifa felt herself even joining in the chant, "Security and unity!" The words made her feel bold and strong as they danced across her lips, but yet, she felt troubled and looked toward Sephiroth again whose gaze was now cast toward the ground.

"A team from the Protector Force secured Sephiroth on the perimeter south of Costa del Sol around the marshlands. Just as you see him now, he was wandering like a loon in the muck as my captain Johnny Costello related when they dragged him into town. Look at him. Does he look like the demon who once razed half of the world? All I see is the shell of a monster no longer a threat to any of you. Take him away. Now, raise your glasses children of Gaia and join me in a toast to the new world, one free of tyranny and evil."

Tifa wanted to believe so badly, but a world free of evil? Beneath everything, there would always be some darkness intermingling with the light. Yet, she clinked her glass to her husband's and watched as Sephiroth was led back to the prison.

* * *

A/N: I usually keep my author's notes pretty brief, but I'm glad for the reviews. For the reviewer who accused me of being a Cloud-hater, I have to say that I don't hate him in the slightest. Beneath the surface, he's probably one of the most complex characters from the original game. I discount the extended universe entirely as I feel that shrunk the complexity that all the characters had to offer by fitting them even more so into tropes to appeal to a primarily teenaged fanbase. I remember first playing this game and being immersed in the action and the plot and loving every minute of it as a kid, but in many ways, Final Fantasy VII story was never driven by the complexity of its characters. A game can never be novel in this regard which lets the fanfiction writer reinterpret or renegotiate the subtleties that they perceive in a character's expression whereas in a novel those motivations, quirks, and nuances are spelled out (unless of course you're dipping into Modernism which makes everything more opaque.)

As much as I love the Final Fantasy universe, I have to criticize that the established morality behind good and evil is horribly black and white, and the only game in the series that seemed to explore moral ambiguity with any detail was Final Fantasy Tactics which I recommend you all play for a story with deeply compelling characters, but I will say that Final Fantasy VII sticks out for me out of some place of nostalgia that I can't quite wipe away. I thought that the protagonists behaved in wonderfully grey ways many times throughout the game. They started out as eco-terrorists after all, and some of your random encounters against Shinra's nameless infantryman and soldiers makes for some very serious contemplation. No one ever has any sympathy for the henchmen who just happened to be caught up in an evil corporation's reign, and there are so many interesting things at play in Final Fantasy VII like what happened to the conventional government? Why does a power company have a standing army? At a character-level, I want to explore how the game's protagonists reconcile what they've done in the past with what they will do in the future. I always found Cloud to be deeply compelling and charismatic, even after he dropped the fake soldier persona, but like one of my reviewer's mentioned, he has a lot of growing up to do, and as someone who has been so psychologically-stunted, he will have to deal with the fallout that comes with seizing the reins of absolute power.


	5. Chapter 5

Oblivion

Chapter 5

* * *

His vision was clear. The callus that'd grown over his eye slough away like snakeskin. In the eerie hours of the never-ending fluorescent lighting that flooded his room, he was certain of one thing. His senses had only sharpened as he counted out the long seconds of the day. A week, maybe two had passed since Cloud's dinner. His mind roved over the knowns and unknowns. He could feel the omnipresent watch that'd been placed outside of his cell. He could hear them slump against the door in inattention, gushy up over some new little flame one of them had somewhere down the coast, or brag about some new promotion that one of them had received. Every now and then, one guard would pull back the metal slat on his cell to gaze in at him with visor-covered eyes.

"Fucking surreal, man," would come the quip before they'd close the slat again.

Fucking surreal, indeed. Sephiroth's world had been inverted. Jenova's silence had only deepened. Sometimes, he almost felt her in what he thought was night, but then he'd awaken in a cold sweat to find himself alone in the dank, musty room.

The food came irregularly, but he ate it all — the blackened slime stew, the overripe mush of what might have been broccoli, and the rancid beef. He was sure that the cook was determined to poison him, but he only grew stronger. In lieu of the manacles' shackling control, his strength came in waves. He pushed himself against the ground in push-ups, sit-ups, whatever he could do to reinvigorate his body. He may have been lacking many of his former abilities, but he would have his physical strength.

His found himself in the midst of his hundredth push-up from that morning when he heard very unusual voice on the other side of his door. _Her._

"Look, Johnny, I know I shouldn't be here, but just let me give him this."

"Absolutely not. Cloud's orders were strict. No one goes in and out, not even you, Tifa."

"Aren't we, friends, Johnny? I just need to get this off of my conscience."

A sigh — perhaps, Johnny the one-eyed relenting or perhaps Tifa slinking off in defeat.

"Okay, Tifa, but don't you get Cloud after me about this."

"Why would I? If…when he finds out. I will tell him that _I_ forced your hand, I promise."

Sephiroth could hear Johnny inputting the monotone combination to his door. The locking mechanisms unclenched with an electric whine.

"Against the wall, asshole." Johnny shouted, and Sephiroth did as he was told. He would observe. This was new.

Dressed for battle, Tifa entered the room, her crimson gaze proceeding her with an armful of manila folders. Some were stamped with the labels "Confidential" or "For Shinra's eyes only."

Sephiroth quirked a brow and started to speak, but Tifa raised her hand, her eyes dark with hate and hurt.

"Don't talk. I can barely look at you. Maybe in time, I will ask you why you did this to me, but I can't live the rest of my life without knowing that you _know_."

"Know what?" he was intrigued and started to pace toward Tifa.

"Stay against the wall, asshole. I will fucking shoot you." Johnny shouted, shouldering his rifle.

He raised his hands in mock surrender, "You win."

"Calm down, Johnny." Tifa said suddenly, flashing her companion a troubled look, "I can petrify him if necessary. I only need a few more minutes."

Sephiroth watched the interaction between the two, her cheeks flushing with some unknown feeling and his lowered eyes. Interesting, very interesting.

Tifa turned to face him once more, those damn red eyes shining like juicy pomegranate arils even in the room's pale light, "Take it or leave it, but these files concern your identity — the real one, not whatever you conjured for yourself. Now, I'm going to place these files here, and you can read or destroy them, but my conscience is absolved."

She knelt now, and Johnny leered at Sephiroth, almost daring him to move. She spread out an array of files over the floor. A photograph of a brunette woman with bangs that seemed unusually familiar slid out of one. Her warm but sad eyes stared out at him and gave Sephiroth a sudden, hot shock. He felt numb.

He could feel Tifa watching him and forced himself to meet her eyes. She was a wolf. He would have to watch that one. This prison was making him feel so much unlike himself as he fought back the sudden burst of admiration that he felt for her open defiance of Cloud. He would have had her court-martialed at once had she been one of his troops, but she was a civilian, an uncanny one at that. But, there was still the unresolved matter of the woman. A dream, a vision, or a memory?

"You can go now," his voice was a whisper, and she backed out of the room as carefully as she'd entered. Johnny was all too happy to shut the door again in his face.

War games. Psychological tactics. These manila folders were brought here to disorient and humiliate him further. Sephiroth refused to be their sport, and just as he'd thrown himself on the ground to rip apart every last atom of those files that were supposedly about his origins, he felt himself pause, let out a shaky breath. Was he going to entertain this madness?

Tifa and Johnny could have very well staged that elaborate display to deepen his pain. Cloud, the master of the marionettes, stood behind the scenes and pulled the strings. He left the files untouched and stood on his rough steel cot to scan the wall for bugs. He had no doubt that they were watching him. He would show them that he wasn't the fool they'd assumed. He placed his ear against the cool concrete, closing his eyes, and listened for unusual frequencies that hummed from behind the wall. Nothing. He tapped for hollow spaces, but even the rigidity that resounded against his taps reassured him of nothing. They could still be listening, watching. It was only a matter of time…until. Until, what?

Sephiroth raked his hands through his matted hair and stroke the light stubble that had grown in the past weeks with an almost nervous anticipation. The woman stared out at him, her chocolate gaze always locking on his. Why did he know her? Why did she feel so familiar? He had to know her identity at the least though he knew whatever was written in those files was likely spurious. He hopped lightly onto the floor and knelt as Tifa had, the space where she'd been still warm. He touched the files gingerly, feeling their brittle thinness. The unused odor of dust and smoke invaded his senses.

He opened one folder, scanning over documents regarding Project S — _himself._ Those he knew. They had been duplicates of what he read more than ten years ago in Nibelheim, but then there was more — deeper details concerning the process of his creation.

He read aloud, "The implantation of three embryos has failed in the other candidates, but Dr. Crescent's vitals remain stable, and the fourth embryo shows no signs of outward mutation. The modified mitochondrial replacement therapy displays the expected results. 98.5 percent of her DNA has successfully integrated into Jenova's. However, the pre-implantation hormonal trials appear to be less than replicable. Another successful trial and implantation is posited to have a success rate of less than 5 percent. It appears that Dr. Crescent is an _exceptional_ candidate," Sephiroth paused here, looking at where Hojo had underlined the word "exceptional," he could almost hear the man's monotone rambling run through his head. What did this mean beyond conjecturing about probabilities? Who was Dr. Crescent? Mitochondrial replacement therapy?

He drew a breath and continued, "Though Dr. Crescent's physical health is by no means compromised, and she complains of migraines, visions of darkness as she terms them. I believe this to be some sentimentality on her part toward the progress of our work. If her mental health declines further, then she may have to be taken into captivity for the duration of this experiment," Sephiroth read further, turning the page to a special memo that Hojo had written to President Shinra directly requesting permission to keep Dr. Crescent — Lucrecia Crescent on the premises of the headquarters.

Embryo…his mind roved over the word. Surely, that did not mean him, but who else could it have been? His cheeks flushed and sight clouded with a sudden rage. For the second time in the past hour, he had almost begun to shred the documents, but his curiosity steeled his hand.

"My mother is Jenova, but," He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence. The woman in the photo, her sad gaze and the swoop of bangs that pulled away from her face. A familiar hairline and set of lips, though his were less full — he'd touched his own as if they were foreign. The facts were staring him in the face. He bore more than a passing resemblance to this woman in this photo, but then he thought of Jenova in her tank from all those years ago.

He remembered the first moment that he saw her.

Desiccated, speckled flesh quivered beneath bubbles of mako behind glass. One glowing eye lie in a greyish, plain face. Her neck sat upon gently rounded shoulders, and how much of a goddess she appeared then, floating and shimmering in the darkness of the reactor. The iridescent beauty became a nightmare. He could feel something in him break when his eyes trailed down her torso, taking in the splattering of insectoid eyes that grew from her breasts. Something like a circulatory system, a massive heart, blackened arteries, and veins pulsated outside of that dried body. It was a strange mingling of death and life.

He opened his eyes again, never truly having been aware of closing them in the last minute and found himself clenching a new fistful of Hojo's notes. He put aside the evaluation documents that recorded Lucrecia's further deteriorating mental health and found himself enthralled by the a new research proposal. A fine swirling script unlike Hojo's own almost illegible scrawl stared up at him.

Sephiroth felt compelled to read the words of the woman who had borne him, "In mapping Jenova's DNA, we have determined that her genetic code is not too dissimilar to that of a mitochondrion's. It baffles us as such readings would indicate that the specimen could have never properly lived at all. It may as well be a large bacterial culture that has assumed a humanoid shape, but the cells show a certain uniformity that leads Hojo to a secondary theory, that we are gazing on an Ancient. He wants to proceed with the Regenesis Project or Project S…S being for Sephiroth. The name is a figurative interpretation, taken from the Ancient language for "an aspect of God." Hojo believes that Sephiroth will reveal what our progenitors may have been. Please find my assessment of this hypothesis enclosed as I am uncertain, especially with regard to Dr. Gast's current fieldwork that we should be entertaining such a dramatic scaling-up of this experiment so suddenly. A smaller study would entail…"

He could have laughed. She couldn't have been too "uncertain" as she was carrying him to term a year past that point. He tossed the folder aside feeling suddenly worn out with the reading and flipped through three others. Diagrams, graphics, funding arguments, and bureaucratic red tape — all uninteresting until he came across a slim volume. A diary, he mused upon opening it. Undated, it smelled of talcum powder and perfume. Many pages were soaked through with tears, but it didn't take much to tell that it had belonged to _her._

He almost flung the notebook against the wall. He wanted to burn its dainty floral façade and tear apart the yellowed pages. All these years, and still he had been misguided, but he had felt her, Jenova — felt her invisible breath as she shaped his thoughts. She had been his mother, but then again, so had this woman.

Here, Lucrecia described her "visions of darkness" with more profundity than Hojo's wry footnote. She saw scorched earth and fields of bodies. She saw severed limbs bobbing in a river of blood that led back to him the nightmarish silhouette, the black-garbed wretch that would grow from her baby boy. He would be the blight that would befell the world and drink it dry of life. He was the coming darkness. She saw that Jenova would achieve her awful mission. Lucrecia said that she could hear her. He read through these mad ravings, finding more similarities between himself and his mother than he preferred to entertain. She felt called to initiate the reunion of Jenova's disparate cells. She wanted to wander into her chamber and slash her own wrists above the tank where they housed her in Nibelheim and allow her to live anew. She wanted to offer her child up to her, and Lucrecia had known that she sounded insane to her own ears when she read it aloud.

Sephiroth turned pages frantically until he reached the last several which were addressed to him personally:

 _My son, I pray you can forgive my weakness on the day that I failed to end your life. It was before the confinement, before I could not tell the difference between the real and unreal, the voices and the visions. I kept this journal in an effort to keep things clear, but I have to tell you about that day. It was the first time that I had a vision of the monster that Jenova intended you to become, a perfect blending of my features and her intent. I think that I understand her will better than you'll be able. Everything living fights to prolong that life. Above all, she…it is an engine of preservation. I can only blame myself._

 _It was my vanity. My research had been discredited. When I saw you so many years from now, cutting down men, women, and children with indiscriminate glee, I knew that I had to stop you. I took a car down beneath the plates and let myself out on the edge of the slums. It was an open secret about the doctor who'd help out female Shinra employees who found themselves in trouble, but when I lay on that cold table with my legs spread wide with the intent of getting rid of you, I felt you kick. My baby, my baby who'd grown in me for all of five months. I fought through the nausea, the heart palpitations, and the weakness to catch you up in my arms no matter what you would have been when you came out of me._

 _I pulled down my gown, paid off the physician, and strode right out of the office knowing that I'd failed you then, but I couldn't stop myself. Perhaps it was Jenova or my own pride pushing me further. You should know that I had volunteered for this. I donated my egg and helped Hojo splice Jenova's DNA into the cell, in place of my mitochondrion. I wanted to carry you myself, but I knew then that what we were doing was wrong. I felt it, but I didn't stop. I will never forgive myself for what you will become, but even if no one else loves you in this world, know that I do and that you are forgiven._

It was then that Sephiroth did tear apart the pages, not caring that he would never be able to read her words again. He picked up his metal cot and flung it against the door, roaring with barely contained anger.

"What the hell," he heard Johnny begin. His guard pulled back the slat and Sephiroth ran at the door, slamming it his bare fists and beat his hands bloody. Damn the manacles. Damn Lucrecia, and damn Tifa.

"He's like a fucking mad dog," Johnny shouted jumping, "Somebody knock him out, right now!"

Another of the protectors ran out and cast a spell at him through the slat. He could feel it wash over him at once. His clenched hands lost their grasp, and his vision blackening, Sephiroth faded into an uneasy slumber.

* * *

A/N: And now, Sephiroth knows his origins, but how will he process the information in the coming chapters? There's more to be revealed concerning the labyrinthine web of secrets that Shinra has left behind, and they're fading day by day. Old hurts and rivalries seldom die easily, and coming chapters will grapple with these secrets among other pressing issues of a more political nature. Thank you for the reviews, everyone! Also, just ignore the troll and don't feel compelled to respond to him or her on my behalf. It is really obvious to us all that he/she is not even reading this story and that he/she's taking fan-presented reassessment of a fictional character a wee bit too seriously for a rational conversation.


	6. Chapter 6

Oblivion

Chapter 6

* * *

Tifa pushed around the peas on her plate without much appetite, feeling none too bothered as the green spheres flattened into an unidentifiable mash in the gravy off the roast beef. A lukewarm, ferrous odor wafted up to her nostrils. Her eyes settled on Cloud who hadn't spoken a word to her over the course of an entire day. His gaze met hers for a moment. The tight line that his mouth had formed deepened into a frown.

She let her fork drop with a little clink and held her head in her hands, casting her eyes to gaze on the impenetrable greyness that had settled over Costa del Sol through the window. A dense mist claimed the coast and pushed everyone inside their homes, and she and Cloud had been no exception to the rule. Tifa tip-toed around him, giving him space.

"I can't stand this," Cloud said suddenly, putting his fork down. Even his bottomless stomach seemed soured, "Why did do you go down there, Tifa?"

"I told you," she murmured, "I wanted him to know."

"Does it even matter? Did you think it would make a difference?"

Tifa shrugged, "How should I know, but I'll be damned if I didn't try. I'm not trying to absolve his guilt or anything. I want it to be real for him. He has to understand it."

"The man is a nutcase. You disobeyed me," Cloud said darkly. His blue gaze was stormy and made the room dimmer, stuffier.

Tifa pursed her lips, staring past him into the green wallpaper that had been left over from when this had been Shinra's villa, "I am not one of your protectors, Cloud. I am my own person, and you were never the only person that Sephiroth hurt."

Cloud slammed his fists against the table, "Did I say that, Tifa? Just how do you think it looks when my own wife thinks that the rules that we establish don't apply to her. Do you know what it feels like to try to keep order? It's small, incremental. We're all learning how to trust again, and my men, they're still learning what it means to follow rules. You're the reason that Johnny is sweating it out in the brig right now because I wouldn't put you there."

"Put me there?" Tifa replied with an incredulous glint to her eye, "Who do you think you are, Cloud?"

Her husband pinched the bridge of nose, sucked in a breath, and let out a sigh. He cut the seared meat on his plate with a sudden violence and cleaved it cleanly in half, "Okay, bad phrasing. But, I think I am the man that everyone looks to for a semblance of law and order in this city, and I don't need my wife running around into the cells of dangerous sociopaths thinking that she can make them see the error of their ways with a few documents that she's managed to scrounge up."

"Gaia, Cloud," Tifa hissed, "Is this really about how others see you? You are respected, you are admired, and no one doubts your judgment. I —"

Cloud spoke suddenly, silencing her with a raised hand, "You could have been killed. He could have killed you and Johnny in the blink of an eye, and I would have lost the woman that I love."

That silenced her for a moment. As the sun began to dip below the horizon through the mist, the dying day plunged their dining room into an amber glow. The lone lamp threw off a weak light which made Cloud's youthful features seem more lined and severe. He was nearly twenty-seven, Tifa thought, but already seemed older.

"Maybe I was wrong," Tifa murmured, "It's just even knowing everything that he's done, I can't help but have the strangest feeling thinking that Sephiroth may have ended up differently if he'd just known the truth. I'm not excusing him, and I still think that what he's done is reprehensible. I want him dead every moment I see him, but there's this little voice in me that keeps saying the first thing. I mean, Cloud, what would've happened if he'd only known. I think that it's only right that he should know. I'm sorry. I hate seeing you worry like this."

The loss of light and mist made the room feel cooler than it was, and she drummed her fingers against the round oak dining table where they sat. Cloud was near but far from her, his gaze elsewhere. She could feel his thoughts wandering as he ate mechanically.

She forced herself to swallow a spoonful of peas that'd been made soggy and tasteless from her mindless mashing. Thoughts of Sephiroth and the smell of iron made rethink the other contents of her plate. She would spare the beef.

"Do you know how they found him?" Cloud asked.

She said nothing.

He continued, "He'd torn everything that you'd given him to pieces. He destroyed his bed, ripping it apart beam by beam, and granted it was rusty, but that's no insignificant feat for a man who's been fed one or two sparse meals a day. He's strong, Tifa. He sleeps six hundred feet beneath our homes, and he is just _one_ of the dangers. He beat his own hands black and blue, howling like some rabid dog. My protectors had to cast several sleeping spells in a quick succession just to get him down on the ground. Do you understand why I worry?"

She nodded, pushing her plate away.

"Tifa, there is something you should see," Cloud said rising.

"What is it?" she pushed her plate away, standing to follow him. He took her hand softly, his eyes devoid of their previous fury and led her into the study on the first floor. It was been theirs when they'd first settled in here for real, but it'd quickly become Cloud's. He'd repainted the room in strong, deep blues and pushed her furniture out into other rooms in the house for a desk that seemed to swallow everything. At eye level, there was nary a space on the wall that didn't have some map or project design tacked to it with pushpins or putty. Cloud guided Tifa over to his mammoth desk and drew a file from the chaos that reigned on top of it.

One loose arm around her shoulders, he thumbed through the file until he found the page that he wanted, "There's this group that's formed and taken up residence in the old Gold Saucer amusement park just south of here. They're anarchists who call themselves the Insurrection, and they've been making trouble for some towns nearby. Land usage disputes, petty theft, but there's been several more serious incidents that have needed my attention. The situation has only escalated since Sephiroth's return. Everyone is antsy."

Tifa's cheeks colored with shame. She'd been selfish, thinking only of resolving her pain, "Cloud, I understand," and then her discomfort deepened as her mind pondered over this anarchist organization, "What are you doing about them, the Insurrection?"

He closed the file with a quick snap and placed it back on his desk, "Don't worry. It's being handled." Cloud said no more on the matter and shushed Tifa when she began to inquire again, taking her into his arms and pulling her form against his body in a deep embrace.

He kissed the sensitive triangle of flesh between her neck and collarbone, and she flushed with an entirely different emotion than shame.

"I love you," she whispered, "Nothing will ever change that, and I trust you, Cloud."

He replied at once, "I love you too. Above all things, Tifa, I want you safe."

She felt deliciously boneless in his grasp. His callused hands roved over her arms in a soothing massage.

"I know that I've been distant these past few weeks," Cloud murmured into her hair. He sat in his desk chair, pulling her into his lap, "It's been impossible."

"I know," Tifa replied, "You know I understand."

"Doing what I want and have to do are really different things, Teef."

She lay a series of feather light kisses against his brow and scratched the base of his head, running her fingers through those flyaway blond locks of his that defied gravity no matter how many times he ran a comb through them.

He continued, "I know you understand that. Their eyes are always on me. I'm the one that they're looking at for every decision, and I have Reeve with his urban development background and the others, but you're my rock, Tifa. I can't do this without you."

"You don't have to...You know you have my support."

The light of the noon sun awoke Tifa the next day, and she cursed for having risen so late in the day. Cloud left a cold spot from where he'd lain. He'd gone south to negotiate with representatives of the Insurrection, and she'd wanted to go with him, but he was adamant that she stay and keep things secure on the "home front," not that he wanted her to visit Sephiroth's cell by any means. She felt that was out of the question. That didn't stop her from badgering Giles, another of the protectors guarding his cell, for information. He reported that Sephiroth had indeed awaken, perhaps looking a little stiffer than usual and huddled himself quietly on one side of his cell. He didn't touch a crumb of the food that had been given to him that day, and it seemed that he scarcely breathed let alone moved.

For the first time in the past month, her mind felt at ease, and the clear, good day beckoned to her. Tifa had tired of beach living quickly and had not gone properly swimming in a full two years, but that would change today. She packed herself a bag with a towel, sunblock, and a memoir by a Midgardian who'd survived Meteor's fall and set out down the hill from her villa through Costa del Sol's winding, narrow streets of hot, cobbled sandstone. The heat rose and seeped deliciously into her bare soles.

She found herself walking out onto the shore down toward her favorite alcove, a hollowed half-moon scooped out of a craggy hillside. A few tough, dry reeds wagged on the wind. The salty tang of the sea air enlivened her. She untied her sarong, threw down her floppy hat, and ran into the crashing waves. The deafening cacophony of the water was soon the only sound that filled her ears.

There was neither Insurrection nor Sephiroth, and she closed her eyes for a long moment, taking a breath and allowing herself to sink beneath the surface. Purity. She swam for another hour before she waded back to the shoreline. Thoroughly worn out, Tifa flung herself onto her towel. She felt as if she still flowed with the current and savored the ephemeral tactile mirage in her flesh. Her PHS chimed suddenly. Ah, yes. She had thrown it in her bag before she left. Shading her eyes with her hat, she scanned her messages and sat up suddenly.

Giles had called her no less than 12 times.

She listened to her voicemail, and Gile's shaky voice came out on the other end, "Mrs. Strife. I think that you should get down here. It's really rather urgent. H-h-h-he, Sephiroth is demanding to speak with you at once."

Tifa sat up suddenly. Her eyes screwed up as she pondered what to do. Well, Cloud had placed her in charge, but she knew that he'd meant that figuratively. According to the chain of command, it would be his lead marksman Cook's call, but who was Cook, anyhow? He hadn't lived half of her life's experiences. This was best left to her adroit hands. Cook would have been liable to find a reason to shoot Sephiroth. She dusted the sand from her fingers and backside, beginning to fold up her belongings. She would grant the man an audience that was the least she could do after hearing about his episode, but a small voice in her whispered that Cloud wouldn't stand for this. How conflicted she felt.

She wasn't violating his trust. She was helping, and to make this feel less like a violation, she would speak to him solely through the slit on his door. Yes, she had decided as she retied her sarong. Dusk had begun to fall when she found herself in the elevator heading into the depths of the containment facility.

She wore a crisp suit and her gauntlets, with all of her materia slotted for extra comfort for her throbbing nerves. She passed through the multiple levels of security, flashing her ID badge to each of the guards though it was almost a formality at this point. Then, there was Giles who was quivering among several other men.

She patted his shoulder, "Easy now. Now, let's see what this is about."

She pulled back the slat herself and gazed in on Sephiroth. He sat with one knee pulled to his chest and the other leg held outward, his bare, dirty foot facing the door. They'd finally given him a fresh prisoner's uniform. He was still filthy, only his face and hands washed clean from the sink in his room. His gaze was despondently focused on the wall to the left until he saw her looking in on him, and then he returned her gaze, intensely. His snake's pupils dilated momentarily and made his eyes seem almost normal, almost human.

"So," Tifa said with more conviction than she felt in the pit of her stomach, "You wanted to speak with me?"

* * *

A/N: Another chapter down!


	7. Chapter 7

Oblivion

Chapter 7

* * *

Hair as deep and dark as silken ebony beyond the grate that divided him from his freedom framed those damning crimson irises. Her eyes, his human hands flexing —human, human, _human_. He stood on the precipice of belief that Dr. Crescent — no, Lucrecia had indeed been his mother, but what did that make Jenova? He had felt her radiance. She'd guided him on their journey to immortality. Or, had it been _hers_? Lucrecia's words haunted him — _it may as well have been a bacterial culture that assumed a humanoid shape._

He was ice, still frozen in his seat on the concrete floor against the wall. Sephiroth felt his knees throb dimly from where he had fallen after they immobilized him. All that was left were a few scraps of paper and the detritus of bolts and cotton from his destroyed cot.

"Well," she said, "I am not going to wait all day. You called me down here. So, talk."

Talk? Words felt like cough syrup on his tongue. So thick, so unpleasant. But, she was right. He had called her down here, and after a deep breath, he felt at last ready to speak.

"Is it true?"

A sigh from her unseen lips behind the cell door. She blinked then answered, "You read the files."

"You forged them," he accused.

"Why would we waste the time?" Tifa replied.

"Then, where did you find the files?" Sephiroth retorted breathlessly.

That earned him an eye roll. Something in her stare said that she found this tiresome and him peevish, but she entertained him nonetheless, "They were duplicates from the headquarters with some amendments. You should know what happened to the others."

The burning pages alongside melting fat, teeth, and hair. Yes, he remembered and cast his eyes away from hers, suddenly struck with some strange, distant feeling that wrung at his insides. He had to break the silence, "Well, why did you keep them? I was dead. They were hardly relevant."

"It was my decision. I wanted to understand you."

"Well, do you understand?"

She stepped back, and he could see her whole face. The full pink lips screwed into a bitter smile, "What could I tell you about yourself that you don't already know now?"

"Humor me," Sephiroth said with a small self-loathing laugh. He lay his head against the wall and closed his eyes to evade hers.

"You think this is a game, don't you? Well, Sephiroth, let me tell you about yourself," Tifa deadpanned, "Age nine —"

 _That was before —_

"You were first tested for an affinity for the Ancients' powers. The legends said they soared through the sky like birds. So, Hojo thought he might see if you could do the same."

He flinched at the very memory, silently hoping that Tifa hadn't noticed it. He'd fallen three stories…spent weeks in the lab infirmary. He could still feel the resetting of bones that'd stitched themselves back together again too quickly and left his limbs temporarily misshapen. He traced his shin for the absent scar — could almost still see the white tip of tibia protruding in his child's memory.

"You had 130 broken bones. A shattered cranium, being the most worrisome of all. Hojo thought you were almost ruined and took to his bed in horror. He received quite the tongue-lashing from Shinra for his carelessness and very nearly lost his position as Director of Project S."

Without seeing her, Sephiroth felt the smile behind lips, and he turned to face her, with his accusing frown. Enjoying this? But, there was no grin in the way that she looked at him, only something wet, almost aghast.

"Should I continue?" She asked.

"Why stop now?" Sephiroth spat.

"Age 11. You killed a man. There were few details about the matter, but I understand that was where your induction in SOLDIER began. Am I correct?"

"Very much so," Sephiroth regarded her and thought back to how hard it had been to kill a man then. He'd put up a fuss and cried when ordered to do so. There was something that felt very wrong about killing a man who'd done nothing to harm him. Several uniformed men and President Shinra himself were in attendance — in that painfully white room. Down at his feet lay the tile, pristine. Crisp black lines divided square from square, and it was almost as if he couldn't hear what Hojo had asked him to do. All sound had fled the room except for the dim buzzing. Was that the first moment he had heard her humming?

There was a man strapped to a chair. He stank like urine. Sephiroth spied the wet trail snaking down his pant leg. His dilated pupils swallowed his irises, and he moaned, maybe wept in his throat. A sock, gagging him, barred any last words. Sephiroth looked from the chair to the pristine floor, glanced around widely at the stark whiteness of his lab clothing, the walls, and the floor again. His own hands were ruddy from electric burns for disobedience. Hojo remarked rather dryly that the specimen needed urging. Shinra himself even seemed strangely speechless. Maybe, a little greenness colored that hoggish, shrunken face.

"Take a shock or take the blade," Sephiroth said aloud to his cell.

"What?" Tifa asked suddenly, and he jumped. He hadn't thought that he'd said that.

"An ultimatum. Take another thirty thousand volts or take the blade, and cut the man apart. Show them your training. It was a simple choice really."

"That's monstrous."

"Well isn't that what I am?" Sephiroth said, beaming. He stood on his wobbling legs and closed the distance between them, pressing his face as close to the grate as he would dare. His hands touched the coolness of the metal door. He murmured, "Age 17. Attempted breeding. Perhaps Hojo tried or didn't try replicating his greatest work using the first method, but he certainly went for an alternative. He took three women from the streets — the sort that no one would miss. Burdens on the family and no prospects but hale and hearty…slum-dwellers."

He breathed and continued, "So, we four sit in adjacent cells as nice as this. They cry, whisper, and pray. I am a second class SOLDIER, but still this is where I spend all of my non-training hours. I have long since been separated from others my age to spare me of their corrupting influence. Hojo oversees my education. One of the three girls is thrown into my cell every night for six months, and it's the same command. Thirty thousand volts for the both of us or breed. Six months pass. I am proven sterile — irreplaceable and singular. What now, Tifa? Understand me yet?"

"That is…that is," the tan had drained from Tifa's skin, she had the same look that Sephiroth remembered on Shinra during his conditioning when he'd at last launched himself at that man. It was strange, he thought. He hadn't even felt the nameless man's last quivering breath give way, just felt the warmness of the arterial spray splattering his clothes and the no longer pristine floor. No tears, his eyes had gone dry, and he hadn't cried a single moment from then on to his first death. He wanted to slap her through his cell for the look that she gave him now. It was the same, the same air of sickness and something else implacable that unsettled him.

"Monstrous? Save your pity," he muttered, his vision clouding. He staggered away from her and took his head in his hands. He backed away until his spine touched the wall and slid down, falling in a ragged heap on the floor, "That was the hell that Lucrecia left me in after I was born— for her vanity."

"You shouldn't hate her," Tifa replied, her voice quivering and soft as if she'd begun to cry. She cleared her throat and continued, "What you lived through was evil, but it wasn't as simple as all that. Knowing Hojo and Shinra, do you think that she had a choice?"

"And, where was she? My entire life? I'd rather Jenova to her!" he felt the cry ripped from his throat, and he could hear feet scurrying on the other side of the door.

"Hold," Tifa called shouted. She remained still, her voice clear, "She felt so horribly for what she had done that she attempted suicide. Only, it would seem that she shared your problem. A certain inability to die."

His heart lurched, and he sat upright at once, taking in her heart-shaped face in search of deception. There was no trace of a lie in those fierce red eyes. The lips were pressed in a straight line, but there was the barest hint of confliction. Perhaps, she said more than she should have, he thought.

"Well, if she isn't dead, then where is she?"

Tifa sighed again, "Being here and being alive are both matters of perspective, I suppose. She isn't really dead, but she isn't really alive."

Sephiroth exhaled a hissing sort of breath and narrowed his gaze, "You didn't answer my question."

"Does it matter? All things considered, you'll never see her. I think we're done here," with that last word, Tifa turned on her heel to leave.

He closed his eyes, running his hands through greasy mats of silver hair — an old anxious habit that'd reassert itself at times. Sephiroth hadn't intended to lose control. He was at one time its very definition. Had he become so weak? No. He was anything but weak. He breathed in and out, counting the breaths. His watch normalized, and one of the protectors closed the grate on his cell door with a metallic whine. They were expecting him to destroy the room again. They feared him. Good. Or, was it really? Was it good at all? A small part of him was tired of the fear, the apartness now that he'd fallen off that old precipice into a world of new belief.

Lucrecia Crescent had been his mother.

He could read it in Tifa's eyes.

"Lucrecia," he murmured into the stillness. What images of motherhood could a name conjure when he knew nothing of tenderness? Jenova had been a goddess to him, hovering just beyond his vision in the distance. She was a goal, a promise, a whisper of understanding, and for all intents and purposes, she was dead.

Within himself, Sephiroth saw his child's hands stained with that man's blood. The alien feelings of regret, of shame crept across his skin like a trail of ants. The deaths that followed his first victim numbered legion. A thousand, thousand men would not equal the tally of those who'd died by his hand and his orders. Damnable as he was, he still felt his will surge deep within him strong and true.

He chose life.

Now, he had a goal, a reason to escape these four walls. Somewhere, Lucrecia lived, and he was determined to find her.


	8. Chapter 8

Oblivion

Chapter 8

* * *

Tifa wandered halfway down the coastline from the prison before she found herself in front of a squat beach shack. It was all brown clapboard that reminded her of her old training boots. She could already smell the flowing draughts of good drafts on tap and the fat planks of fish that'd been netted this morning. She needed to drown in amber. Good old De Souza's. Mosquitoes in the early dusk winked themselves out on flickering neon sign above her head one by one.

She liked it here. Tourists avoided the bar, and it quickly became the stomping ground of all the protectors in the past few years. Pulling off her jacket and hanging it, she took a seat on the stool furthest from the others.

There were a few off-duty protectors playing pool who hadn't bothered to change their uniforms after they'd gotten off from work. She nodded in their direction, and they returned the gesture.

"What can I do ya for, Mrs. Strife?" Blair De Souza asked, waving her way as he pitched a tall glass of bubbling lager down to the other end of the bar.

"I'll get whatever he's having, a shot of tequila with a lime slice, and big messy pile of bacon cheese fries."

"It's been one of those days, huh?"

"You wouldn't believe the half of it." She sighed. As seedy looking as his bar, Blair De Souza was thick, tall with grubby fingernails and a face full of billowing red beard, but he kept the drink flowing, and she liked the food.

He slid a glass down her way, and she lapped up the beer's head. She would have this one and would keep drinking until she could stumble back to the villa with a good, fuzzy feeling to kill the bad. Maybe she'd gamble a little. The boys had a good game going over there with the pool, and a few others were playing poker.

Beer drained, she sucked the lime slice, dipped her fingers in a little bowl of salt, and downed the shot. There it was — that warm glowing place. She didn't want to think about the conversation that she'd had today with Sephiroth. He was evil. He had done unspeakable things, but there was this growing part of her that looked at him and was moved to pity.

"And the fries," De Souza grunted as he emerged from the kitchen and placed them in front of her.

"You're a saint," Tifa said and pointed toward the empty beer glass, "I could do with another one of these. Make it an ale this time. Something strong and hoppy."

She wanted to call her husband, but she already knew she was in for an argument and a half when he got back and heard wind of her conversation. She hoped that his dealings with the Insurrection had gone well, that his mood would at least be placated for that small victory.

The door opened, and a few more protectors strolled inside the cramped room.

"Well, Teef, aren't you a sight for sore eyes," A protector whistled and sauntered up to her, taking a seat at the bar.

Shit, _Johnny_. He had to be angry with her.

"Hey, Johnny," She greeted him feeling somewhat sheepishly. Tifa took a deep swig from her beer.

"Hey, Johnny? That's what I get after sitting in the brig for three days because of you." He snorted and took off his helmet. The wicked scar where his right eye had been made him seem all the more hostile, "You promised."

"Cut me some slack, JC. I tried," Tifa replied. A headache was forming just behind her temples.

Johnny leaned over her and grabbed a fry, stuffing it greedily in his mouth. He raised a finger toward De Souza and ordered a whisky before speaking to her again, "P'shaw. Remind me not to ask you to try for anything again. You will be getting no more talk time with the silver loon on my watch."

Tifa's stomach flipped, "Can we not talk about him? Let's celebrate your free steps back on the sand in Costa del Sol."

Johnny gave a sharp bark of laughter, "I can drink to that." The two clinked glasses.

"How are you doing?" Tifa looked over his scar. She wasn't in the mood for a conversation, but it wasn't in her to turn away a friend.

"As fine as I can be all things considered. Getting a glass eye is a lost cause says the doc, but chicks dig a scarred warrior, and I can tell 'em that I faced down the mighty Sephi-…sorry."

"It's alright," Tifa replied, but it wasn't. There was the man who thrust his sword through her father's lungs, the same man who nearly destroyed the world, but there was the boy — the child who'd endured such inhuman acts. How was she supposed to feel? Reading it was one thing, hearing it was another. She drained her beer halfway.

"Whoa now, little cowgirl." Johnny said, "Where's the fire?"

"It's been a stressful last few days. Get your damn fingers out of my fries and get your own," she said swatting his hands away playfully.

"Noted, Mrs. Strife. Hey, De Souza! How about some fried whiting down here and red slaw?"

"Coming right up, boss."

"In the meantime," Johnny said to Tifa, tapping her arm, "How about a game of pool? Let's show these greenhorns the way we did in Nibelheim."

"Why not?" Tifa said, rising. Her legs were steady, and she was slowly feeling herself cheer.

Some hours later, she stumbled onto her porch, shivering in the chill air. She'd left her jacket hanging on the rack back down at De Souza's along with who knows what else she'd forgotten. She and Johnny had parted ways a block ago as he ambled off to his flat, ready to pass out the moment he passed the entryway. Already, she was sobering, feeling the loneliness and sadness of the coastal night creep down on her. She fumbled for her keys for a moment before turning the lock and opening the door.

"Cloud," she called. No answer. No one was home. Strange, she thought he would have been back tonight. The Gold Saucer wasn't too great a distance, even on bad roads. She climbed the flight of stairs to their bedroom perhaps a little lighter on her feet than usual. She wasn't hangover drunk, but it was still there. A shower seemed like a nice thought, but she opted for the bed collapsing at once, with her shoes kicked carelessly here and there.

A dream. No, a memory.

Tifa was fifteen again. She was wearing that little, embarrassing cowgirl number that she'd ordered out of a catalogue. She'd wanted to wow Cloud, but he hadn't come back with the others to check on the reactor. There was just raven-haired Zack who was unabashedly checking her out and Sephiroth who'd sized her up at once, snorted with disdain, and dismissed her. It'd been five minutes, and she was already on the Silver General's shit list for looking every bit like some backwater floozy. It was damage control time.

The walk to the reactor had taken some days. It was situated high up on Mount Nibel. The Shinra Company had blown a crack right into the side of the one of highest peaks. They were fortunate that they hadn't triggered an avalanche all those years ago that could have buried Nibelheim or one of the other settlements, but there'd been plenty of rockslides.

"I mapped these paths myself," Tifa said beaming up at Sephiroth who seemed the only capable of keeping her stride. Zack and Cadet had both fallen behind and were whispering between themselves somewhat furiously.

"Oh," He said.

Oh? That was all she got? She felt dejected, "There were plenty of rockslides after the reactor had been built. No one wanted to survey it. I took on the task while I was training."

He sighed and then asked, "Training?"

"Martial Arts, Zangan style. The master is teaching me himself. You might've met him. His strength is unreal," There that ought to impress him, but he said nothing. What an ice king.

But, then he shocked her, "Why don't we take a break, and you can show me your technique?"

No way. Was this real? Tifa grinned from ear to ear.

Sephiroth shed his coat and placed the Masamune on the earth beside him. He unlatched each of his shoulder pauldrons and assumed a fighting stance. She mimicked his wide-legged gait. She bet that he expected her fly at him, but she was no novice. She studied him. He definitely had the height advantage. His muscles rippled beneath calm, even breaths. The green eyes narrowed. He had an advantage in strength too.

Suddenly, he surged toward her. A fist sailed past her head, and she dodged, feinting for the right back landed firmly behind his back. His speed was unreal. She'd barely landed on her feet when he'd already sent a whirling kick at her side that she'd just managed to avoid.

"Lighten up, Seph. I'm sure cowgirl's dad'll be pissed if you crack the kid's rib," Zack shouted, waving his hand.

"I'm fine," Tifa snapped in reply. She somersaulted away from him, looking for cover to get the drop on him, but there was nary a tree for miles in this part of mountain range.

Sephiroth sped toward her. It seemed like his feet were barely touching the ground, but for the briefest moment, she saw it. There was an opening near his right hand. Yes! He was left-handed. She dove for his right side cutting underneath a raised leg and struck him with a solid blow. It was like punching the cliff's side. He barely budged.

He caught her fist on the next blow, "Very good. Your skill will develop nicely."

She was out of breath but felt like sunshine had seized her whole being for how his words made her feel. There was the barest touch of warmth to his eyes and a small smile.

 _How terribly human_.

Tifa woke up with the fuzz of last night's beer clinging to her tongue and her stomach roiling. She stripped and padded into the shower, savoring the needles of water that stung her back with a sizzle. He'd gone easy on her but was honest in his expression. What a different man Sephiroth had been then, but they were all different.

She turned off the nozzle to the water and wrung out her hair. She draped herself in a luxuriously fluffy robe and tiptoed barefoot to the kitchen for a strong cup of coffee only to find Cloud with devouring a stack of bacon between swigs from a steaming cup.

"Made you a cup too and some eggs," he motioned at his side.

Tifa walked over to the kitchen isle and pecked him on the cheek, "You shouldn't have."

"What's this I'm hearing about you chatting with Sephiroth again? Are you buddies now?" Cloud murmured.

Tifa sighed and sipped at her coffee, "Don't be ridiculous. He asked to talk to me, and to avert anything drastic, I went and listened."

"I don't want to fight right now." He said putting his head into his hands.

"What's going on?" She asked with a small tap on his back.

"The Insurrection," Cloud replied, "We talked for hours and hours, and nothing got resolved. We're back at square one. Worse than square one. They're laying claim to the lands extending well into the Corel area and want tax-free use of the hydroelectric station. Utter bull."

"What will you do?" Tifa said, rising. She kneaded his shoulders, and he began to relax under her touch, "I don't know yet. I'm going to talk to the council to see if we can give negotiations another go. Some were almost on the verge of listening. Aside from…Sephiroth. How are things on this front?"

"Fine, just fine." Tifa said, "If you need me, then I can travel —"

"No," Cloud said suddenly, interrupting her, "I need you here. Be my ears when I am away."

For some reason that unsettled her, but she let the comment be, "If that's what you want."

* * *

A/N: Thank you for reading! Reviews are always appreciated. A little commentary…I always liked the idea of Johnny, the NPC that follows you during the course of the game as the third survivor of Nibelheim. There's a mistranslated portion in the original game that leads you to believe that Johnny is a childhood friend of Tifa's, but that bit of dialogue is really talking about Cloud of whom he's jealous as he has a crush on Tifa. Without any spoilers, the next chapter will be pretty action-packed. ;)


	9. Chapter 9

Oblivion

Chapter 9

Autumn flew in on a breeze to Costa del Sol. Two months had passed since she'd spoken with Sephiroth. Those long days felt strangely ominous to her, but somehow the abnormality of it all became normal. Tifa mussed through her hair before binding it in a high ponytail. He'd done nothing unusual, she heard. He ate, slept, and worked out in a near monk-like silence. Cloud and a few protectors ruminated over the implications of it all, but she…she had training to do and shouldn't have been thinking about this at the moment. She sighed and grabbed a light jacket before heading out of the door. It was windy but mild — her favorite time of the year. Tifa launched herself into a jog away from the residential district and towards a hilly park where she saw her sparring partner for the day.

"Janine," Tifa called, signaling toward the woman with a wave.

Janine returned her greeting with a smile that revealed brilliantly white teeth. She was tall and lanky with skin the color of deep mahogany. Janine stood from where she'd been doing squats and stretched, running her hands along her closely cropped hair.

"Long night?" Tifa inquired.

"The longest." Her friend replied, shedding the black jacket to her Protector's uniform.

"That's too bad. Happy belated by the way. I'm sorry that we couldn't do anything. You know, politics mangle up everything. There was this stupid gala that I had to attend with Cloud and —"

Janine cut her off with a laugh and outstretched hand, "It's okay, Tifa. NBD. You're the wife to one of the most powerful men on the planet. These sorts of things are perks with the lifestyle." The woman cleared her throat upon receiving Tifa's reproachful grimace and added, "Oh, don't give me that look. You know that I didn't mean it that way. I'm just trying to say that I'm twenty-two. It's not a big thing to fuss about. It's just another day out of the year."

Tifa snorted, "I remember twenty-two. It was a hell of a year, but it's not just." She squiggled her fingers, signaling air quotes and continuing, "Another day. You're my protégé and truthfully the only one who gives a damn about the martial arts in this whole damn city."

Janine grinned and then swept herself into a bow, "Well, shall we begin?"

"Let's get on with it then. Keep up what you've been doing with your footwork." Tifa said, sizing up Janine who pulled herself into a defensive posture. Tifa smiled to herself noting how the younger woman's positioning had significantly improved. Though she had the height advantage, it had at one time been her greatest weakness. Her palms were open but ever so slightly cupped and stretched away from her frame. Tifa knew that she wouldn't strike first. Experience had taught her patience.

Fine, Tifa thought, if that was how she was playing it, then she would begin. Tifa lunged forward, feinting toward the right before she struck out with a kick toward Janine's left hip. The woman dodged and circled around her back only to strike air. Tifa ducked and rolled beneath the woman's legs, before grabbing her ankles and using the momentum of the moment to flip Janine on her back.

Janine was only there for an instant before she leapt to her feet, winded and frustrated. She sprinted toward Tifa and landed a well-placed blow on her left shoulder that knocked the smaller woman off of her feet for the briefest moment. The two then backed away from each other, pacing in parallel tandem. Tifa quickly fell into a low lunge and struck Janine with a spinning kick to the knee.

"Ow, damn." Janine cried, grasping at her leg, "Okay, I give. Let's take a breather for a moment."

"Yes, let's." Tifa answered, panting. She redid her ponytail and took a seat on the soft earth near the woman's side. Janine dug around in a blue knapsack and tossed the other woman a bottle of water. Tifa thanked her after having a long drink.

"Not a problem. I couldn't help but notice that you had forgotten yours." Janine retorted.

Tifa shrugged, "I was a little distracted this morning."

"By what?" Janine asked.

"It's been nearly three full months since Sephiroth's capture and two since I've spoken to him. It's like he's here but isn't. I know every moment of every day that he is beneath our city, and it scares the hell out of me, but I think I'm getting used it." Tifa replied. She chewed her lower lip and stared down into a mossy wooded trail beneath where they sat. She became extremely aware of the ground's mid-morning moisture dampening her backside.

Janine released a shaky breath, "It is pretty damn scary, isn't it? Guard duty days are the worst. I swear that I feel ice on my spine every time I pass his cell. I was still a kid when everything went down with Meteor, but I remember. Everyone remembers."

Tifa nodded and remembered the years that immediately followed. She would never forget the famines — the bloated stomachs and lidless eyes of the Midgardian refugees fleeing the city. The devastation spread all around in lieu of the lifestream repelling the death bringer. Hellish years, she thought with a shudder before speaking, "I'm worried too about the Insurrection. They're getting bolder. There were a series of murders by a disputed hamlet near the old Gold Saucer. Cloud said he came across a mass grave outside of a farm, but I'm sure that you know that. He isn't talking to me about it, but I know that he's haunted by what he's been seeing."

Janine frowned, "I know as much as you do. I'm not that high up…there has been some talk rippling through the PF though. They're escalating their tactics, and it might be a matter of time before we do as well, but that's the boss's decision."

Tifa balked, "Cloud wouldn't. There must still be room for negotiation." With a sigh of finality, Tifa stood and motioned to Janine, "Shall we continue?"

They sparred for another hour, and Tifa demonstrated a few new sequences before she bid her friend goodbye for the day. Janine would be on active duty in an hour and needed to head home to freshen up again. Tifa nodded and departed in the opposite direction. Her muscles throbbed deliciously, and she savored the sting of a good workout. Her heart beamed with pride for her student, but still, half of her was troubled. Through the thick foliage, Tifa spied the path to the sidewalk and followed its winding way down the hillside. The mere thought of war pulled her stomach into knots. Cloud should've been home by now. She would ask him then.

As she emerged from the urban forest and onto the street, the sun blinded her. It sat like a fat, yellow egg directly overhead and warmed her back and shoulders. The streets were quieter after the tourist season. She walked mindlessly until she reached home. She showered quickly and dressed in simple leggings and a well-worn tank before heading for the kitchen.

"Cloud," she called throughout the house.

A muffled grunt answered her from a cracked door leading into the first-floor study.

She opened the fridge and frowned at a mushy pear before withdrawing a questionable egg salad sandwich that was still in its wrapper. She sat on a stool at the kitchen island, setting one hand on cool granite. Cloud staggered into the room. He stifled a yawn and rubbed at his red-ringed eyes.

She clucked her tongue, "You shouldn't do that yourself. You like hell today."

Cloud snorted, "Gee thanks, Tifa." He sat adjacent to her and stroked her arm with affection before stealing half of her sandwich.

"Hey," she squeaked and poked him, "That was mine."

"You weren't eating it quickly enough," Cloud said with a playful smirk and before frowning, "Ugh, this is borderline rancid. We need to go shopping."

Tifa sniffed at it and shrugged before taking a bite. Between mouthfuls, she studied her husband closely, "Is something on your mind?" She couldn't help but think back to her conversation with Janine earlier that day.

"The Insurrection, of course. I told you that we uncovered a mass grave recently after a string of disappearances. This is more than a simple land dispute now. We've doubled down on patrols, but I have reason to suspect from our latest intel that there are some Ex-SOLDIERS down there raising hell."

"What?" Tifa turned, now giving her husband her full attention, "I thought that nearly all of them had joined the PF."

Cloud snorted, "Not enough apparently. We're barely keeping pace with this group's movements. We just learned about an old Shinra black site that they raided more than a month ago at this point. Hundreds of arms are flowing freely down South, and mayors from fringe towns are calling me daily telling what I already know about the situation. People are afraid, and the local authorities are overwhelmed."

"Sounds like a power grab if you ask me."

"Damn straight." Cloud spat, "There's always a big man somewhere who wants a little more than his share, and he'll always have a gaggle of idiots right behind him cheering him on until everything's chaos. Our problem lies in the villages and towns that are aligned with this nonsense. I'm trying to keep this w…no, this _thing_ away from the non-combatants."

Tifa placed both of her hands over his, tracing his callused fingers. She leaned across the stool, making him face her until their foreheads were touching, and with closed eyes she whispered, "No matter how bad things get, you don't let this _thing_ change you. Sticks to your guns and just be you. You don't have to be our big man to put down theirs. You care so much that it hurts, and I get it. We've nearly died for just a few moments of peace and…" she licked her lips searching for the word before continuing haltingly, "Order. Please don't you ever forget that I'm here for you."

He caught her lips suddenly, pulling her into a kiss that expressed such desperate need that it overwhelmed her. She felt like she was drowning within the weight that hung over Cloud as he leaned forward, seized her shoulders, and clung to her much smaller frame.

"I don't know what I would do without you, Tifa."

That very night, the world turned on its side. Tifa awoke with a jolt, alone in her bed. Everything hurt at once – the blaring of the sirens, the smoke that sent her into a coughing fit, and ache that came from interrupted sleep after a long workday. Ten past two in the morning, she read as the bleary, red alarm clock's numbering came into focus from her nightstand. Tifa leapt out of bed and ran for the window. Curtains blew wildly in the breeze. In the distance, Costa del Sol burned. Smoke billowed into the night and choked out the stars. Intermingled with volleys of gunfire, a second, larger explosion erupted in the distance. There was a kick at her door, and she needed no further prompting to roll into action. She dressed quickly and slotted her materia just in time to see a hooded gunman shoulder a rifle in her direction. She fired off an ice spell before he could fire a single shot.

The sudden use of magic left her a little dazed, but she rocked with the queasiness into a jump and landed on the man, pulling him in a hold.

The gunman somewhat recovered gasped for air and fought against her grasp.

"Not so fast." Tifa growled, "Drop the weapon and tell me what the fuck you're doing here."

"Let me-"

"Go? Hell no." She said, tightening her grasp around his neck.

The gunman dropped his weapon. Tifa cast a disabling spell on him and his arms fell limply at his side.

"Now then." The martial artist began, "Who are you? What are you doing here, and what the hell is going on outside?"

The man's eyes flashed with a sudden anger, and he sucked in a breath deeply before striking Tifa with a gob of brown spit.

"Wrong move." She retorted, punching him directly in the jaw. The man's head rocked against the wood floor with a sickening crack and blood dribbled down his jaw. He was unconscious. Tifa sighed, "Shit." She hadn't meant to knock him out. Now, he couldn't tell her anything. She had to get out of the house. More men could be behind him if they weren't already inside.

A beam snapped from somewhere within her home. Peering through the doorframe, she spied fire snaking its way up the stair. Stupid, she thought looking at the shooter on the ground. He was as good as dead — so was she if she didn't think of something quickly.

Tifa smacked her forehead, "Think, dammit, think." What could she do? There was no way down. A thrill of adrenaline coursed down her spine as she turned madly toward the window. She was either risking broken legs or being burned to death. She'd take the crutches. Tifa sailed through the curtains, feeling momentarily weightless before the wind began to whip past her. She could make out nothing in the pitch blackness beneath her body. They'd attacked the power plant. All of the city's lights lay dead.

She swooned when she hit the earth. A bush cradled her head, saving her from some damage, but the landing had not been soft. There was a shout from the house. She wouldn't give another attacker a chance to take aim at her. She limped down the cobblestone path into the amber glow of the burning inner city. Tifa nearly stumbled over a dead woman on the path. She had been shot several times and sat with her legs splayed out in the entryway to her cottage. Was this what the Insurrection did? Was this who they were? Tifa paled and swallowed down the bile rising in her throat.

Out of the smoke, several men ran towards her, and she crouched in a defensive squat already readying a spell.

"Woah, Tifa. Easy. It's us!" Johnny called out to her, raising the visor on his helmet, "We saw a small force run toward here. Are you okay?"

Tifa shook her head, "I think I sprained my ankle. I had to jump out of my bedroom window."

Another helmeted Protector stepped forward, handing her a blue vial, "Here."

She nodded her thanks, taking the potion from his hand and drank, gritting against the way the chemical cure forcibly stitched the torn muscle beneath her skin back together. Catching her breath, she turned once more to Johnny, "How bad is it?"

The redhead whistled lowly, "It's pretty damn bad. Something like a hundred of those bastards swooped in two hours ago. Their target was the prison."

Tifa blanched, "They didn't…"

"They did. They took out the power first, then the reserve generators, and disabled all of the locks and manacles. Every door is open. It's bedlam there. Head for the town hall. That's the only secure area. Reinforcements are coming in from west from Rocket Town. We've got to go after the others that went down the hill. Otherwise, I'd escort you there myself." Johnny said, gazing meaningfully in the direction toward her house.

Tifa shook her head, "I can make it there on my own. Do what you have to do and be safe."

Their encounter hadn't lasted but three minutes, but the dreaded implications of it all rattled her. _Every door is open_. The Insurrection had no idea what hell they'd unleashed. Running on animal instinct, she veered off the main road into an alley for town hall. She clamped down on the thoughts that echoed Nibelheim as she made her way down the dingy lane. The images came so readily. A disemboweled villager who'd been cut down just outside of Shinra Mansion's gates taunted her from somewhere deep in the recesses her mind.

"Go away," she muttered to herself, closing her eyes for the briefest of moments as tears began to stream from her eyes unbidden. No, she wiped at her face. She had to be like steel to get through this. Her alleyway turned into another. She was close now. She suddenly broke from her stride, nearly losing her balance. There _he_ was.

Sephiroth paced into the alley and glanced behind him. He hadn't seen her yet, and she wasn't going to make herself noticed. She sucked in a breath and sank behind a large dumpster, giving the smell no mind. He stepped onto her lane. She spied his bare, dirty feet peeking out just before her, the rest of his body still hidden. He continued down the path before pausing suddenly and turning. His eyes locked with hers, and she drank in his mad visage before springing into action.

The manacles were gone, and she'd have to deal with whatever strength he'd gained in his three months of imprisonment if she wanted to live. He'd managed to arm himself too, brandishing someone else's blade — SOLDIER standard-issue, doubtlessly foisted from an Insurrectionist. To see it slotted with materia made her sick with fear.

"Well, Ms. Lockheart. How about a sparring match for old time's sake?" He murmured silkily, leering down upon her.

"It's Strife," Tifa spat, her insides burned for him having referenced that day in the mountains before he'd ruined her life. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing her frightened.

The two circled one another. He had the advantage of reach with that sword despite it being far shorter than his own. She wouldn't underestimate Sephiroth's skill from one blade to another. Swordsmanship had been his forte. He thrusted towards her, and she'd only just barely managed to parry. He was far faster than he should have been from months of malnourishment. The alleyway suddenly felt suffocating. She craved space for movement.

She willed her magic into life. Runes of light rushed past her fingertips. Perhaps he'd like a taste his own favored fire, "Beta!" She roared pouring every ounce of herself into the spell. Fire fanned out towards him. He countered it with a wall spell.

Magic was no good now. She feinted for his right before trying to seize his left hand. I have to disarm him. The wild thought repeated itself as she struggled for the blade. She kneed him in the crouch and shoved an elbow into his nose. She was willing to do anything to stun him for a few moments to escape. She hadn't expected him to drop the sword and enclose his large hands around her throat. She clawed at his fingers as they pressed into her soft flesh. She struggled for breath until her arms fell limply at her sides. So, this was how it ended. Her eyes closed, and her mind trailed off into nothingness before she could feel his grasp lightening.

A/N: Long time, no update, right? Grad school is a killer, but thankfully I've graduated, and I can finally have some semblance of a life again. In this chapter, the Insurrection finally makes its appearance and wreaks havoc in Costa del Sol, allowing Sephiroth to escape in the process.


	10. Chapter 10

Oblivion

* * *

Chapter 10

A lone squat shack of wind-battered clapboards sat perched on an outcropping of white limestone. Sephiroth scanned the windows for any sign of light or life. He shuffled the burden in his arms, peering down momentarily at the unconscious woman who he half-cradled. Her dark curtain of hair wagged in the predawn breeze. He watched her chest rise and fall slowly with every deep, dreaming breath she took. Tifa's brows were perpetually furrowed with a silent anger, but she wouldn't be waking up anytime soon. He'd cast the most potent sleeping spell on her that he could muster after he'd first managed to knock her out.

Now what? The answer yawned into a multitude of possibilities. He could dump her here, make his way for freedom, but he — Sephiroth dared a look down at Tifa's sleeping face again as he walked up a sand dune with some difficulty toward the house — needed her. Nearly strangling the woman wasn't going to win him her cooperation, and he needed that modicum of trust. His gaze bore down on the red imprint of his hands against her throat. A small tickle of a feeling danced in his stomach whenever he chanced a glance at the bruises that he left her. Shame? No. Certainly not. She would have done her best to kill him. He silenced his thoughts, peering into the shack's large rectangular window.

A quick assessment: no curtains, a possible sign of vacancy…and the few pieces of furniture he could make out seemed more functional than personal. Several boxes were piled into a corner in the salon along with an unopened tin of paint. Perhaps, this was or would be someone's vacation bungalow. He readjusted Tifa in his arms to wrestle with the lock. No, there's a faster way, he thought. Be strategic. He sifted through Tifa's materia, feeling out their purposes with a sort of preternatural sense that all magic users learned through time and practice. Perfect, an ice materia. He seized the orb in his left hand. A sudden whispering chatter flooded his mind, and the sphere began to glow a deep azure. He focused intently, targeting the lock. The metal frosted underneath his gaze, radiating a chill that reached his face. Shuffling Tifa again, Sephiroth struck the lock with his blade's hilt. It fractured then shattered, falling with a thunk as shards of lock and doorknob scattered across the porch. The door opened creakingly inward, and he walked inside the foyer…no that was a bit grand, he thought. This little ramshackle summer shack was little more than several rooms on one level. A combined kitchen and living room bled into a short hallway, leading into a smallish bedroom that he could see from where he stood. He strained to listen for anything…anyone, praising the return of his superior senses after having worn those manacles for so long. Nothing. Sound's confirmation alone was hardly satisfactory.

Sephiroth stepped down the hall lightly, almost mocking himself for the ginger approach after bashing the front door's lock off its frame. Wind whistled behind him as the door waved back and forth. He walked into the bedroom, which was bare save a metal bedframe and mattress. In the corner of his eye, he spied an open linen closet with a lone sheet set.

"That could be useful," he murmured aloud, starved for the lack of sound. He laid Tifa on the bed. There was barely anything to the slip of the woman, surprising that so frail a form could strike him with such fierce blows. His face throbbed dully where she'd struck him. Anyone else would've been downed by her blows, and after months of his incarceration, Sephiroth had to admit that he too had been somewhat dazed. Such a strange feeling. He stood there torn somewhere between admiration and enmity for the formidable warrior. Let it be said that he always admired strength, but he couldn't allow that strength to overwhelm him. He reached for the sheets, winding a set of two as tightly as he could muster before he bound her wrists and ankles up to the elbows and knees. That would buy a few hours of free time to wander, formulate his approach, and attend to other needs. Readjusted, Tifa barely stirred though a small grimace of obvious discomfort manifested against her features. There was the feeling again. Why should he feel like he'd done something…wrong? He'd done worse to enemy combatants in Wutai to extract intel before handing them off to the Turks, and he'd scarcely cared a fig about anything he'd done once Jenova needled her…its way into his affection.

He left the room and the source of his discomfort behind him, exploring the kitchen cabinets and humming with pleasure to himself once he found several citronella candle canisters. The sky beyond the windows that yawned out above the cliff house was black and cloudless. He estimated another four hours until daybreak, reading the position of the phoenix constellation in the sky. Sephiroth summoned up several small flames to light each of the candles, their citrus-infused floral scent filling the room. He hated wasting magic so frivolously. He placed two on the floor, in corners away from windows, and one in the bathroom. A more organized sweep of the shack revealed canned rations, his stomach growled at that discovery, men's grooming supplies, a basic first aid kit, and a half-used bottle of all-purpose body cleanser and shampoo.

He undressed quickly and stepped into the small shower, thankful that it was connected to whatever main water line lay beneath the region. The cold water stung like needles, but it felt...Ah, the sensation was indescribable. Pleasure and pain intermingled, and the temperature transitioned into a brief soothing warmth. Sephiroth lathered his hair and his body, watching rivulets of dirt stream down his legs into the drain underneath the yellow, candlelit glow. He could scarcely recall the last time that he had been clean. It felt like a blessing to run the damp, warm cloth against his face, down his arms, and along the length of his body. After drying himself, he shaved, flicking stubble into the porcelain sink, and watched the fine hairs and foam drain. He raised a hand to his cheek and examined himself. A small shame arose within the comfort he felt as he studied his bare body. His form was considerably leaner but no less toned. Yet, it was somehow _lesser_.

"What a stupid thought," Sephiroth said, dismissing the matter almost as quickly as it arose. He peered out of the doorway into the bedroom where Tifa lay prone and sighed. He hadn't yet rummaged in the lone dresser in the room. He was loath to dress himself again in those threadbare prison rags. There were women's things. Another drawer revealed men's underclothes, a bit too short and tight for his tall frame. There were pants as well and a form-fitting tee-shirt. First matter resolved, his stomach stirred again. His mind turned to the rations in the kitchen. A can of peas, pumpkin puree, and white fish. The peas were acceptable, but he was undecided on the matter of fish mush and formless squash. He turned back to the room where Tifa lay before making up his mind and wandering out of the house with his sword in hand. So far up the coast and away from the city, rocky tide pools lay pristine. The sky had taken on a deep violet tinge, and he made out several small fish wriggling in the clear water just above the sand. It surprised him to see no monsters, but it only spoke to the efficiency of Cloud's army, which made Sephiroth hesitant to tarry here for too much longer. One matter at a time, he thought, turning his focus once again to the fish. He spotted a few sand gobies, ambling lethargically against a brilliant blue coral. He inhaled for an instant, before striking out and seizing his prey. Its speckled brown body flailed in his hand. That method wouldn't work again. If he had a lightning materia, he might have been able to stun another. Sephiroth scanned the tide pool again, his eyes falling on five large mussels. Perfect.

Returning to the house, he prepped his meal in silence over a materia heated stove. He found a teaspoon of cooking oil in a canister, an iron saucepan, and several utensils. No seasoning, it didn't matter. Simple tasks pleased him. Neither unpleasant memories nor indecision and shame could touch him here. He removed the pan from the heat, waiting with strained patience, and plated his meal. Perhaps, he could entice Tifa with food. When he'd happened upon her, she seemed shaken and perhaps a little injured or fatigued. He neared the room and sighed.

Tifa wasn't on the bed. A sudden slam into his shin revealed the woman who now crouched alongside the bedframe, her body half-obscured. Her crimson gaze blazed.

"I don't know what the hell you're playing at, but I'm not biting," She spat.

Her recovery time was remarkable, he marveled as he struggled to remain on his feet. Relieved that he hadn't dropped the dish, he leapt out of her range and set the plate carefully in the center of the bed. Even bound, she was a challenge. She'd angled her legs carefully underneath herself and sprung upwards, using the momentum to swing her arms like a hammer towards his face. He caught her with ease and held her.

"Stop," Sephiroth commanded, his tone remaining even with some strain as Tifa flailed out of his grasp.

"Like hell!" She shouted.

"Calm down." He pressed again, holding her by her biceps. He pinned her legs between his, wary that she might try a different avenue of attack. She snarled wildly at him and thrashed.

"I am not going to harm you." He murmured.

Tifa chuckled and flashed him a wry little smile, "And, why should I believe you?"

She really didn't have any reasons. Remember, psychological tactics, Sephiroth thought, schooling his features into a blank expression, "You're bound but alive. If I had wanted to merely escape, then I could have broken your neck in the alley. I…apologize too for the way that I subdued you, but we have to talk. Are you hungry?"

Tifa thrashed in his arms again before she spoke, "What do you want? What could you want that I or anyone else would possibly give you?" The woman sighed deeply now, her rage and adrenaline giving way to fear of whatever grim fate she imagined he had in store for her, "Are you going to kill me?"

He observed her for a long moment. There was no malice in the act. She'd seemed calm, rather numb, but he recognized the panic lying just beneath the surface. It stirred something within him, a memory perhaps. Hojo's lab. Bubbling, boiling flesh. Caustic injections. Sephiroth cleared his mind and spoke, "No, I already told you I wouldn't."

"What do you want?" She fell boneless into his grasp and he sat her down onto the bed.

"Just to talk."

"Then talk." She said, her gaze averted. She'd begun to tremble.

"You said that she was alive."

"You'll have to be more specific."

"Lucrecia…the woman, the woman who carried me," Sephiroth couldn't quite bring himself to call the woman his mother again.

"In a sense, yes, but mostly no." Tifa's voice had firmed up, and she continued, "She was like you…encased in a mako crystal."

"You'll take me to her." Sephiroth stated matter-of-factly, and she suddenly shifted in his arms, her eyes catching his hotly. The fear had quickly faded.

"Are you insane?" She asked before laughing humorlessly to herself, "My home was just attacked. My husband is god knows where, and the last fucking thing I am going to do is gallivant across Gaia for the likes of you."

A genuine smile tugged at Sephiroth's lips, even the fear of death couldn't keep the woman's true thoughts and feelings from arising unbidden, "I thought as much. I volunteer an exchange. Your assistance for information. Are you hungry?" he gestured toward the plate, mindful that his hard-earned catch was quickly cooling.

"Hardly," She said, her gaze withering, "If you want my full attention, then untie me."

He shook his head, "Now, Ms. Lockheart."

"Strife." she corrected.

"Tifa." he supplied instead, "I wasn't born yesterday. You're a handful tied, and you haven't even heard what I am going to say. I'll keep it simple. You have turncoats in your army."

"Bullshit." She shook her head fiercely, "If you're just going to sit here and lie to me, then you're wasting your time."

Sephiroth sighed, his appraisal of her intellect and instinct suddenly feeling somewhat overblown, "Think critically, Tifa. All of your major facilities were compromised, strategic points in the town were overwhelmed. Moreover, someone knew the architecture of the prison well enough to disable several series of encrypted locks and a backup generator, and none of that surprises you?"

"How the hell did you…?" Tifa began before Sephiroth cut her off.

"I observe and listen. I watch, and what I've learned between here and Costa del Sol in less than twenty-four hours says a lot."

"Well, let's say that I'm listening." Tifa said, "So far you've only told me that there is one traitor or more in the PF. That's nothing of value, and I'm still seeing nothing to this exchange. You kill me, you don't see Lucrecia. I don't help you, we're stuck here. Cloud will find me eventually."

"Do not think that the matter of your little war has been so readily resolved, and besides if anything, Cloud will think you've been kidnapped by the enemy and pursue them before sweeping beach cabins."

She'd had a retort, but her mouth quickly snapped shut with that thought, and she seemed stricken. He allowed his grasp to slacken — a gamble but one that he would wager and placed his palm over hers. Her brows furrowed, but she didn't pull away. A positive sign. Perhaps, she'd relent.

Sephiroth continued, "I fought one of your ringleaders. I recognized several of my old men in unaffiliated fatigues with a scarred brunet man who the others called Drew. He hadn't been one of mine. The name on his uniform read Humboldt. Does the name ring a bell? I took out one of his conspirators before he ran off screaming another name into a radio emblazoned with your people's sigil."

"Drew Humboldt," Tifa began, exhaling a shaking breath. Sephiroth may as well have faded from the room when he saw how her gaze glazed before taking on a renewed fire, "I don't…I can't believe you. How do I know that you aren't just stringing me along with some stupid scenario that you conjured up? Drew is one of the most dedicated men under Cloud's command."

"Would you want to take that risk?" Sephiroth stroked her hand more firmly now, slowly relaxing his grasp on her.

"If this holds any water, then that's more reason for me to be back in Costa del Sol. Untie me." Tifa shifted, weakly attempting to swat his larger hand.

Sephiroth shook his head, "That isn't the bargain."

"Who said I ever agreed to anything? You talked. I listened. Let me go."

"Lucrecia…"

"Not my problem." She huffed.

Sephiroth sighed, "There is the matter of the second name…perhaps more important than the first, perhaps not. I would give it to you if you lead me to Lucrecia."

"No dice." Tifa retorted, and then she sighed. A wave of emotions flashed within her eyes, tinges of anger, fear, disgust, and something else that made Sephiroth even more uncomfortable than any of the former, more obvious feelings. She licked her lips to question him, "Why is this so important to you?"

That caught him off caught, and he drew a breath, chancing a glance out of the window. Violet hues had given way to a sickly red in the sky, and the sea roared, battering the cliff's side. Sephiroth returned her intense, bright gaze, the narrow slits of his pupils dilating, "I've been fed lies from the day I was born about who and what I am. Presumably Hojo is dead, and as far as I know so are all of the others affiliated with Project S. I want to see her face. I want her to know what has been done to me, and I want her to know what I've done…"

His voice fell away suddenly. He hadn't been prepared to say that. He hadn't even thought about what he might say should he confront her. He released Tifa entirely, drawing a hand to his face. She fell backwards against the wire headboard, squeaking out a soft oof. His shoulders heaved. He panted. His pulse quickened. Her eyes on his…that familiar emotion, that hatred for her pity. He wanted to stop her from looking at him with those wide wet eyes.

Tears fell. Hers, not his. She whispered, "Damn this. I can't do this. Damn you, Sephiroth, damn you. I shouldn't be feeling this way for you, especially you."

He steadied his breath, schooling his features into their usual mask of aristocratic superiority, "Are you hungry?" he gestured toward the plate a few feet away from them. He had to regain control of the situation, steer the conversation. He reached for the plate, cutting white fish flesh into smaller bite-size pieces.

"No," she answered. He shrugged and ate quickly. They sat in silence for ten minutes, before she spoke again, "Untie me. Look, against my better judgement I feel for you. Yes, even you." She said and nodded as he quirked a brow, "I can't begin to grasp the hell you've gone through fully, but I can't even begin to consider this. I'm not even sure what happened to you, but the Sephiroth that I thought I knew would not be begging me to do anything for him at all, but I just, I just can't do…"

"It's a choice, Tifa. Your choice," Sephiroth replied flatly, seizing her bound wrists. He began to untie the knots, feeling a greater sense of futility. Her eyes fell on his hands, studying the length of his arms. Faded injection sights and old scars felt more apparent. Some things never healed even upon returning from marks were a part of him, etched into his body's most perfect memory of itself.

Now unbound, she massaged her forearms, which had grown red under pressure, "My home, my husband….the city," Tifa murmured, "You can't begin to understand."

"I suppose I can't," Sephiroth said looking away.

"No threats?" Tifa began to work at the knots binding her legs, haltingly as if she expected the situation to change any moment. It might have had several months earlier when he still strained for Jenova's phantom call, before he read the documents, and mulled over them endlessly in his mind.

"What good would it do me?" Sephiroth shrugged, tracing his scars with light fingertips. He longed for his old gloves and coat that he'd worn to cover his unsightly flesh. Thinner, his blue veins seemed closer to the surface.

"Apologize to me," Tifa said suddenly, studying him and his furtive movements.

"What?" his voice caught in his throat.

Tifa pressed again, more firmly, "You heard me, Sephiroth. Apologize to me."

"I," Sephiroth paused. Why was this so difficult? He fiddled with the hem of his too tight shirt sleeve, picturing the ghastly charred bodies of people still screaming, their throats too burned to emit sound. He saw himself wielding his katana, saw it impact Tifa's father as the smaller, older man released an inhuman squeal. Lastly, he saw her, more girlish, racing toward him with his own blade. He wrest it from her and without a second thought. He slashed the woman across her front, watching her abdominal cavity split open and ruby drops of blood sprinkle onto the earth with a growing speed. He opened his eyes, hadn't been aware of shutting them and felt shame fully invade his being.

It had been like being back in the white sterile room having to kill his first man.

Sephiroth's hands shook. Nausea overtook him. At least then, torture steered him on to commit that horrible act, but this, this had been nearly entirely self-directed with just the minutest amount of urging from Jenova. He knew right from wrong — knew it abstractly, knew it intimately, knew how it felt when he betrayed Zack, his only friend, on that same day. Sephiroth bit his lower lip and attempted to speak once more, "I…that wasn't. What I mean is…I apologize, Tifa." A shudder wracked his body. He touched his face and stared down at his dampened fingertips in amazement. What was this?

Tifa stood from the bed, backing away from him. The moment had shifted. She shook her head, "I accept your apology, but I can't forgive you. You haven't seen it, the sheer scale of the devastation that you've wrought, but I will help you on three conditions."

"Name them," Sephiroth replied.

"I contact the PF, inform them of the situation. You return my materia and gloves. I will not allow you to make me vulnerable. Traveling to the cavern means traveling through unsecured land. This isn't just for you. Something has been kept from me, and I need to see the frontier myself," Tifa folded her arms and shifted her feet. To him, she seemed as unsure as she was fatigued. He couldn't fathom what she might tell them. That was an unknown to him.

Sephiroth raked through his hair before standing to match her. He held an outstretched hand, "Very well. I accept."

* * *

A/N: Thank you for the reviews. I am always happy to read the responses that you give me, and thank you for sticking with me despite my rather erratic updating schedule. This was a doozy of a chapter to write. I'd rewritten the end to this chapter maybe several times. Sephiroth showed signs of breaking in the previous chapters, and this is the start of his redemption. Though this doesn't follow any of the wider FFVII material beyond the base game as it's AU, my characterization of him will more closely align with the one depicted in Crisis Core. Even then, he's only really observed from a distance as being somewhat stoic and dryly humorous at times. A second thought – it's refreshing and challenging to write in a very restricted point of view rather than as the all-seeing narrator. Though the point of view shifts between chapters, Tifa's real thoughts and feelings are never known in this chapter. Though a sense of pity and benevolence may be steering her actions to an extent in this chapter, I can assure you that she and Sephiroth aren't going to be on precisely neutral terms for several chapters, and they'll be far from affectionate though this story's direction is SephTi. The next chapter will be narrated from Tifa's perspective.


	11. Chapter 11

Oblivion

* * *

Chapter 11

Lift one foot. Drop the other. You've got it. Don't focus on this being one of the worst decisions of your life. Watch out for hidden sinkholes. These are the marshlands. It's easy to get stuck. Tifa could scarcely breathe. A combination of fatigue, hysteria, and pain overwhelmed her. Her legs throbbed, the bruise on her throat had darkened, and the flesh of her bound arms discolored to a vomit green. Her insides churned. She should have been hungry but couldn't bear the thought of eating. That adrenaline wouldn't last.

"We're twenty miles out from the city," her companion stated. It annoyed her the way that he did that, recounting the patterns in the weather, noting edible berries, or pointing out possible Shinra catchments under certain mounds. She was guiding him, and she preferred that Sephiroth remain silent. It made it easier to pretend that he was someone — anyone else.

"I know," she replied sharply and then silently checked herself. Her cheeks colored out of frustration for the uncharacteristic rudeness, but it was just so hard to be nice to him. She held out a hand, "Stay here. There's an outpost ahead."

"You cannot be thinking of going inside. You couldn't know if it has been compromised," Sephiroth folded his arms. He pressed his lips into a thin line and flicked a hand through his long silvery bangs, pushing them out of his eyes. Tifa hated his height and equally imperious gait. Why was she doing this again? Oh. That.

She witnessed a miracle. A monster became a man. A monster shed human tears and had shown remorse for his misdeeds.

She released a little hiss of air before shrugging, "I'll risk it. Remember my conditions. This is one of them. Meet me five miles due west. It's the beginning of the blight. There's a small cavern near a dry crick. No one goes there. Wait for me."

"The blight?" He questioned.

"You'll see." Tifa replied. She started to walk away. He grabbed her shoulder. She flinched, and he recoiled as if burned, the offending hand held stiffly at his side. She frowned, "What is it now?"

"This is a stupid risk," Sephiroth said lowly, "Even if it's safe do you think that they'll just let you go? You do know who you are, right?" He flashed her the slightest of smirks.

"I've got to do what I've got to do. No one is going to keep me here," She retorted and continued, "Don't get captured again. You won't get followed far heading west."

"What do you think that you can do?" Sephiroth quirked a brow.

"Just wait at the meeting point," She quipped. His mistrust was evident. She sighed, "Look when I commit to something, I follow through on it."

Expressionless, Sephiroth retreated into a darker copse of trees leaving her alone to the music of groaning bullfrogs and rustling dry leaves. She pushed through tall, dark reeds and strolled into a clearing. Through barbed wire fences, Tifa observed a flurry of movement. Men and women ran frantically back and forth. Some fitted vehicles with weapons and supplies. Others were organizing. Her approach had to be cautious. She held up her hands and walked very slowly forward. She hadn't moved more than ten paces before she heard a shout.

"Hold!" A woman called from a tower, shouldering a rifle.

"I'm not moving." Tifa shouted.

"My god, Mrs. Strife?" the protector stammered before fiddling with her radio, "Mrs. Strife has been located." She gestured rapidly behind her, "Someone open the gate."

Another protector raced out toward her followed by several others who formed a tight formation near the reeds from which she emerged. The protector nodded in her direction, "Protector Adams, second class, at your service, Ma'am. Are you injured? What happened?"

"I was kidnapped by the Insurrection," Tifa lied and felt like shit for it, "I only just managed to escape."

"Come on, get inside quickly," Adams ushered her into the facility by her arm, which stung underneath his touch. He gestured toward the others who immediately ran into the marsh. She hoped, in spite the chorus of voices that welled up within her against the very thought, that Sephiroth was well on his way now…there was also Costa del Sol.

"Please," Tifa replied breathlessly, "I have to know. You have to tell me. What happened to the city?" She followed Adams into the base office, and he offered her a thin blue blanket. She hadn't been aware that she was shivering.

"We only just managed to reestablish communications. The power's patchy, but the Insurrectionists turned and fled. We're organizing patrols to capture those who may have been injured or separated. You said you were kidnapped, Mrs. Strife? How are you? Protector Briggs sent for a medic. He'll examine you."

He must have been talking about the woman in the tower. She could only observe everything numbly. All of the exhaustion and strain had finally caught up with her. She collapsed readily into a chair that Adams offered her.

"I'm fine," Tifa said quickly, "Only minor bruises and a few scrapes." She struggled for what to say next. He seemed to be waiting for her to say more. The medic's arrival spared her further questioning. Adams excused himself to attend to other business on the base.

"Hello, Mrs. Strife. I'm Protector Pavel, third class. I am a restorative materia specialist and will be looking you over," the man removed his visor to reveal a tuft of curly black hair and hazel, almond-shaped eyes set in a longish tanned face. He seemed familiar…a friend of Janine perhaps. Her heart suddenly ached wondering what had become of her student. Pavel flashed her a smile that hadn't quite reached his eyes. He set his medical kit on the table near where Tifa sat down with a little more force than he intended, jumping slightly in response.

Pavel shook his head, "You'll have to forgive me, Mrs. Strife. I'm just a little frayed, but let's see about you."

Tifa patted his arm, "Pavel, call me Tifa. It's alright. Today has been full of nasty surprises." He truly had no idea. He smiled again, this time genuinely. Tifa released a little horsey breath, "What more can you tell me about the city. Adams was very brief."

"I'll be happy to tell you more, but let's get through the examination and get those bruises treated. Any swelling or tenderness beyond these surface bruises? Were you tied up?" Pavel frowned examining her arms and legs."

"Yeah," Tifa murmured, feeling somewhat discomfited, "I managed to cut the binds."

 _Liar_.

Tifa stroked her arm, "An Insurrectionist tried to strangle me. That's what hurts the most."

Pavel whistled lowly, "That's a hell of a bruise. He must have had some grip." The protector held his hand out over her. It emanated a warmth that filled her whole being. The sensation was akin to some sort of high, making her borderline euphoric. Her exhaustion faded somewhat, and her bruises lightened.

"Any impaired breathing, or anything else?"

"No, I'm fine, but I haven't eaten."

Pavel turned to fish around in his kit, "I thought as much. It isn't a lot, but here's a ration bar. Tastes like dirt, but it has everything you need."

Tifa ravaged the bar, tearing the wrapper off in one swift movement. It smelled and looked suspiciously like a brownie. She bit into it. No. Definitely not.

"Told you. What happened to your right leg? Briggs said you were limping when you walked in here. Could you take off your boots?"

She plunged the bar into her mouth and unlaced the shoes, kicking them off carefully. "I, um," She swallowed the last of the bar, "Jumped out of a window. Took a potion. It mended the worst of the damage."

"A potion can only do so much. It can't have helped that you were tied up," Pavel crouched and lifted her leg onto his knee. He probed her ankle with soft fingers.

"Ah," she took a sharp breath. It felt like he had thrust her entire leg into a fire. Did something just click? Another tap brought tears to her eyes. Something definitely shifted underneath her skin.

"I'm sorry, Tifa. I don't know how you managed. Your tibia is fractured where it meets that talus. Sorry, that's ah…where the foot meets the leg. It's a wonder that you escaped at all." The medic placed his hand onto her ankle, enveloping the flesh with a stronger spell that left him looking somewhat pale. He panted softly, "Broken bones take a lot out of me, but you should be fine now."

Tifa stood, testing her leg with a few experimental steps, "I'm a hundred percent. Thank you. Now, what about Costa del Sol? Please, tell me everything."

"Of course, Mrs.…I mean Tifa," Pavel cleared his throat, offering her a bottle of water, which she seized almost greedily. He pulled up a chair across from hers, "I can't imagine what you must have gone through. You've been missing for twelve hours. Communications are back up but only just. We can only use switching devices and Morse code. All of the PHS towers are still down. The Commander is fine."

Tifa sighed with relief, thinking of her husband. She ached to see his face. What she would do in the coming hours agonized her further.

Pavel seemed unsure of what to do with himself. He started to reach out toward her before he settled his hands back onto his knees, "He led the charge to take back Highwind Hydroelectric."

That meant that he was more than three hours south of the city.

"They had to take chocobos there. More than thirty vehicles had their tires slashed. Thank god air support had arrived from Rocket Town and Junon. It was like they fucking...sorry. It was like they knew where everything was laid out, like someone had given them all perfect maps. Hell, to add to the confusion, some of them got into our uniforms. Protector casualties number around fifty. No word on civilian deaths. Nothing is reliable right now. We're still getting updated."

Sephiroth's earlier statements suddenly seemed to hold a lot more weight. Heat flushed through her body. If he was going to trust her, then she'd have to trust him. Tifa licked her lips, "About that," she began haltingly, "I…I saw Drew Humboldt talking with some of the Insurrectionists. He didn't see me. I can't believe that I'm saying this, but he's in on it. There are some dirty protectors working with the enemy."

Pavel gasped, "The base commander needs to hear this at once. Excuse me. I'll be back in a few minutes." He stood, clicked his heels together, and saluted her before exiting the room. This was happening too quickly. She sat quietly, folded her hands into her lap, and closed her eyes. She centered her thoughts on what Master Zangan had taught her. Focus your breath to a count of five. See nothing. Think nothing. Just focus on the sound of your breath as it fills and leaves your lungs. She opened her eyes. Her heart had stopped racing. She knew what to do next.

The door opened and Pavel returned with the base commander who she knew from several previous meetings. Short and somewhat stocky, with hair redder than even Johnny's, the exasperated looking woman before her didn't seem quite like she could hack the part of a base commander, but Tifa knew better. She was one of the best sharpshooters in the entire PF and had a mind like a steel trap. She nodded, "It's good to see you, Bethany."

"Likewise, Ma'am." Bethany replied with a salute, "Pavel mentioned to me something about Protector Humboldt."

Tifa recounted the story as she knew it, omitting Sephiroth entirely.

"I'll be damned," Bethany took a hand to her chin and seemed thoughtful for a moment, "Are you sure? I just can't believe it."

"It's like I said," Tifa replied.

"I'll have to inform the Commander at once. I'll arrange your transport. I am sure that he is anxious to see you."

"Wait," Tifa interjected, "I have a few more questions. I am training a protector named Janine Okoro. She didn't come up in any sort of way, did she?"

Pavel colored and answered, "No, Ma'am. She is a friend of mine. She's manning communications in Costa del Sol."

Tifa released a sigh that she hadn't been aware of holding, "Oh thank goodness. Bethany, I have a request."

"Anything, Ma'am." Bethany answered.

"Could I have access to some of your provisions? I would like a shower and change of clothes too."

"That can be arranged. There will be a convoy ready to leave in two hours' time. We'll get you home," Bethany saluted then directed Pavel to show her to the barracks, which were set further back into the camp. Tifa showered and donned a protector's spare scouting uniform optimized for the environment. It was strange that no one questioned her requests, but she had been discreet, and the mood was still hectic all around. She examined her pack. She'd pilfered enough ration bars to last awhile along with several steel water canteens. She found a few potions but not many. She grabbed a few other odds and ends, which would be useful: a hunting knife, flint, water purification tablets, a few sanitation basics that would travel well, and a rain poncho.

One protector walked into the room and asked why she had been packing so heavily when they were just an hour and a half's ride away from the city.

"You never know what might happen," Tifa said with a shrug, "I just like to be prepared. It's the mountain girl in me."

She found another uniform for herself and stole a male one that no one would miss. Never let anyone say she hadn't done something nice. It would have been great to find some sort of pop-up shelter too, but asking for that would have drawn too much suspicion.

The hour came for the convoy to depart soon enough. Now the trick was to give them the slip. She scanned the camp. She couldn't make a break for it now. There was no way she'd get past the gates. The vehicle that they were taking was a modified jeep. It'd been stripped of its canvas covering. The seats were exposed to the open air. She had an idea potentially as dangerous and bone-breaking as her decision to jump out of a window, but it was all she had. Boarding the vehicle, a protector sat on either side of her on the backseat. Two others sat in front of her. They set off at a slow pace.

They were perhaps twenty minutes out of the base when she suddenly leapt over one of the protectors and rolled down a hill, cradling her pack to her chest.

"What are you doing, Mrs. Strife," the call came distantly, reverberating through the wood. The jeep screeched to a sudden halt. She landed in a muddy pool and spat out salty foul water. She hopped to her feet and assessed herself and her surroundings. The pack was dry. Good. She swung the satchel's strap over her shoulder. Shouts welled up in the distance. The protectors trampled twigs underfoot as they raced after her. She recognized this place. She'd helped survey it herself when this base was first built. She ran past a tall fir tree towards a shallow pool surrounded with skunk cabbage. The shouting was north of her now. A bone-chilling roar responded. They were near the wilder area of the marsh now.

"Shit," she cursed. Whatever monster she heard wasn't heading for her. Large footfalls seemed to knock over small trees. She hadn't wanted to get anyone killed. She was torn between running to help the protectors and continuing westward. Tifa sighed. She had to trust that they were capable. The frontier flashed through her mind. What was happening was bigger than either them or her. She had to see it, had to know. This was how she would help Cloud.

She didn't know how long she'd ran, but the trees and shrubbery suddenly broke off, and then there was _nothing_ — or perhaps the abstract memory of something that used to exist. Miles of dead grass and cracked earth yawned out in front of her. Skeletal trees with holey, hollow trunks dotted the landscape. No birds sang. Hell, there weren't even cicadas. The air felt oppressively flat and dry. She paused for a moment to catch her breath and took a small sip from one of the water bottles in her pack. They'd have to conserve water until they hit the river.

It took no time to find the cavern. A few minutes passed before she had the heart to go inside. She found Sephiroth near the entrance. He'd been busy having dug a fire pit near the mouth of the cave. He used a complicated series of earthen pathways to keep the flames and the smoke concealed. His survival skills shouldn't have surprised her. It seemed like the sort of thing an elite member of SOLDIER should have known. The smoked carcass of what appeared to have been a woodchuck lay near the fire, picked clean of its choice bits of flesh. Where would he have even found that around here? She thought, marveling before acknowledging him.

"Hey," Tifa waved weakly, "What's with the look? You seem surprised."

Sephiroth quickly put on that champion poker face, "I will admit that I hadn't expected you to return."

Tifa took a seat as far from him as she could stand without having to go deeper into the cavern, "I keep my word, and I'm more inclined to believe you about Drew Humboldt now."

If he had a thought, then he certainly didn't share it with her.

She leaned against the cave's rough, uneven wall before speaking again, "We'll leave tomorrow morning. I'm exhausted."

He nodded, "I'll take the first watch then. But, first…what happened here?" Sephiroth gestured beyond the mouth to the cave.

A special nastiness seized her for a moment, Tifa answered through clenched teeth, "You happened."

He said nothing in reply, and somehow she was left feeling like an ass.

"I'm sorry." Tifa placed a hand over her eyes, "This is hard. This was Meteor." These were awful memories to recount, "While the Lifestream and Holy averted the planet's annihilation, neither could entirely stop the damage. Though Meteor was destroyed, all of that energy couldn't be winked out in an instant. It was spread out across the planet. There was no saving Midgar. Millions died, and when Shinra HQ was destroyed, it issued some sort of kill code that shut down every reactor on the planet. What we'd first started fighting for turned out to be devastating in the short-term. No one was prepared, but it hadn't much mattered. The loss of power was just one problem to add to the many."

A crack pierced Sephiroth's perfect mask. He looked away from her.

Tifa continued, "The world that we were left with after that day wasn't the same. Miles upon miles of the land just died. Animals, monsters, and people alike just wasted away. It was like Gaia needed to reclaim something to heal. It turned on us. Nothing would grow. We had to dig in and rebuild." She shuddered, recalling too how Meteor's heat had been distributed across the surface. It had seemed random. One town would be entirely destroyed, all of its people reduced to blackened ash silhouettes, and then the neighboring town would remain untouched. She sighed, "It was strange, you know. Nothing was right with the weather. It would snow in July. Typhoons bombarded coastlands that had never seen a storm, and then there was no power. That meant no refrigeration, no hospitals, and no access to information. In droves, people starved within weeks. There were outbreaks of cholera and shigellosis. Everything just collapsed at once. We used to say that the luckiest were those who died first. That was when we found security through unity. We relearned how to use old technology and innovate it. We centered Junon as a hub for anyone who could work with a wrench or build anything worthwhile, but then there are still these dead ugly places all over the planet."

Her hands shook in spite of herself. The man that sat across from her was the cause of all of this. Cloud would find out…he always did, and no matter what her intentions, she could only hope that this wouldn't irreparably break something between them. The very thought made her shiver. Was this the right decision? She could leave now.

Tifa hugged her pack to her chest and then looked over to Sephiroth, "I'm going to bed. We will do four hour shifts. Mmm, wait." She reached inside the bag and tossed the uniform at him, "Looks big enough."

Sephiroth caught it with ease, looking strangely troubled, "Thank you." His reply was clipped, "I'll leave you to rest." He strode out into the dead field without facing her once.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for the reviews! Before FFVII AC came out, the original ending to FFVII was abrupt, and the fate of the planet was uncertain. You knew it had been saved, but it wasn't clear what was left, especially with that "five hundred" years later scene that immediately followed. As a kid when I first played through this game, I honestly saw them being left in a sort of Mad Max-like situation. Beyond exploring how the characters might respond to the situation, I'm really interested in what it means to rebuild after such a large-scale disaster whether it's natural or political. What changes about life? The next chapter will take Sephiroth and Tifa into the North Corel and Gold Saucer areas. With a game like FFVII, it's a bit of a challenge too to add meat to the world. In pre-Skyrim days, it was totally acceptable for an entire continent to have about five towns represented on a world map. Of course you could infer that there more communities in the backdrop that didn't come into play. The game had just enough world-building to make you feel like you were somewhere, but there are lot of gaps too. You never got the fullest sense of what kind of governments existed in FFVII. It was fairly obvious that the world was set in some sort of dystopic corporatocratic hellscape, but even the depiction of Shinra was barebones too. The political setting of this story is still effectively authoritarian, especially since that's all that our main characters have ever known. The fleshing out of FFVII's world is one thing that I do find particularly exciting about the remake coming out next year. It'll be great to see how the world of FFVII will be updated and scaled up into something grander. Well, until the next chapter! :)


	12. Chapter 12

Oblivion

* * *

Chapter 12

Whenever Sephiroth slept, it wasn't so much that he dreamed as remembered. In some ways, it was almost easier when Jenova shaped his thoughts and actions. He saw its memories, coasted through diaphanous nebulae, and tasted the essence of starlight. He saw billions upon billions of foreign worlds, walked new paths, and heard strange tongues. He had observed events so distant, so ancient that no one who still lived could even recall them through myth. There had been a certain beauty to the unmaking of a world, watching the last of it crumble away into dust as either its star devoured it or as time sent an even greater body to collide into it. At a cosmic level, it happened every moment of every day. Steered on by _her_ guidance, he had been merely accelerating that natural cycle of making and unmaking.

As he slept fitfully on the cavern floor, he moaned periodically. Jenova's consciousness and memories were no longer his own. Instead, he had his own damnable photographic memory with which to grapple. It hadn't all been all bad, but the fleeting moments of good that shaped his life before Nibelheim made the aftermath that much more unforgivable.

It was sometime near the end of the war with Wutai that Sephiroth found himself on the receiving end of the most visceral tongue lashing of his life from President Shinra. He had more than bungled his first interview with The Midgardian Sun, he had completely fucked it up.

"We put countless billions of gil into your goddamn development and education," Shinra screamed from behind his luxurious desk on the seventieth floor of the company's headquarters. Sephiroth could only gaze through the massive panel window that overlooked all of the city, frowning to himself. The President seized in a coughing fit, wheezed for a moment, before launching into another tirade. Brown spittle and cigar stink sprayed from his blubbery lips, "You get on live television. LIVE! And, show your ass. I won't stand for it. Who the fuck do you think you are, you little shit? You call that a fucking fluff piece? When people ask about the war effort, all of Midgar's pretty teenage girls want to know that their boyfriends are solemnly thinking of them and their duty to the company. Mothers want to know that their sons aren't witnessing let alone perpetuating unspeakable acts, and you get on there and tell them quite literally about war."

Aged twenty-three, Sephiroth stood perhaps an inch or two shorter than he was now. His long silver hair only hit the middle of his back, and his freshly minted First's uniform remained unaltered. He folded his bare arms and pursed his lips, "I fail to see the issue. I revealed no confidential information, and I answered his questions to the best of my ability."

"This fucking guy." Shinra wailed to the room, looking at Heidegger and his secretary, with his watery, pale blue eyes. He smacked his desk with stubby fingers, looking every bit like he wished it had been Sephiroth's face, "Again, what the hell is wrong with you? Hojo's going on everyday about how you're some goddamn prodigy, and yet you don't have the sense that god gave a goose to not tell the people of this world about Wutai's children dying from dysentery or our own troops taking chemical baths as we clear their jungles. Someone get me this guy's records. I see we're dealing with a special case. _You_ ," Sephiroth had failed to be his name by that point, "Get the hell out of my sight. Someone get me the media girl. We need to spin this ASAP."

Whatever the President's discussion with Hojo had made clearer, Sephiroth found himself moved from the good doctor's lab the very next day. They told him that there were certain expectations now that he was such a prominent face in the company. Certain things couldn't continue as they had. He now found himself housed in the barracks, with a larger room than the others, but with a roommate much to his detestation. It wasn't that Sephiroth couldn't carry on a conversation. After all, he'd spent months in the field, where the barest of communication skills made the difference between life and death. It was just that…well, he absolutely hated his new roommate.

"Yo, I'm Zachary Fair, but you can call me Zack. I'm over the moon and stars that you're my roommate, man." The younger, shorter man thrust his hand toward Sephiroth, taking a hand that hadn't been entirely offered. Sephiroth wrinkled his nose. Was he really to live with this overly excited porcupine, with his gelled back, spikey black hair? The room was a mess. Beer bottles, skin mags, and energy bar wrappers littered the floor like little bits of treasure one would uncover on an archaeological dig when exploring some lost civilization. Some of this stuff seemed like it had been here for years when in truth, Zack had only had the room for maybe five months at best.

This wouldn't do.

Sephiroth had barely introduced himself before he raced back down to the President's office, demanding his own room. The rotund blond man just laughed in his face and launched into the second worst tongue lashing of Sephiroth's life. It was then that Heidegger pulled him aside and explained in a more understanding tone than the president had given him that they selected Zack especially to be his roommate. He was well-liked by the men. Sephiroth could learn a few things from him to improve his rather lackluster people skills.

That was how he found himself in some sleazy hole in the wall dive in the slums that Zack apparently liked later that very week at three past midnight.

"Yo, Seph, hotties two o'clock. That brunette honey has been eyin' you all night. So what, bro, are you into that?" Zack downed his lager and flashed the woman and her blonde friend a wink. Both women giggled. He tapped the counter to get the bartender's attention, "Get my two ladies another of what they're drinking and tell them that First Class SOLDIERS have got their tab for the rest of the night."

Sephiroth who was past annoyance, who had been trying in vain to read up on the latest situation on Wutai during his period of leave along with a random history he'd grabbed from the company library all night had reached his breaking point, "For the last time, it's Sephiroth. Not Seph, Sephy, bro, or man. Seph-i-roth. Three syllables. It's simple." He repeated his name at a patronizingly slow pace. He sized up the women that Zack had been undressing with his eyes and quipped, "You can't be serious, you'll be fit for a flea dip and a penicillin shot."

Zack groaned, ordered another beer and stood up staggeringly from his stool, "Whatever, man. You need to loosen up. I'm talking about getting it wet, and you're being a stick in the mud." He took his drink to the table and began chatting with the women. Whenever he spoke, they laughed, their eyes bright. The blonde placed her hand on Zack's thigh, and the man was suddenly nothing but teeth. He and the women stood up. If Sephiroth came back to headquarters alone again, Shinra would have his head. He'd been under especially close watch when it came to interacting with Zack. Sighing, he closed their tab, picking up everyone's bill, which annoyed him further. It wasn't that he didn't have the money. It was the principle of the matter. He grabbed his coat and followed them into the predawn air of Midgar's slums, which was to say it smelt like shit and sewage.

They eventually found themselves further back uptown, where the street blocks were cleaner and the apartment buildings looked a little less like they were run by mob bosses. The girls who were called Jane and Summer were roommates. Zack disappeared with Summer, the blonde, into her room, shutting the door behind them. This left Jane and Sephiroth, both sulking on the couch. Jane's every attempt at conversation and further seduction failed spectacularly.

"So." She whispered silkily with heavy-lidded eyes, staring up at him, "What's it like being in SOLDIER? Must be dangerous…must get lonely." She placed a hand on his chest, leaned in a bit closer. Sephiroth could smell the sour mescal on her breath as her smudged red lips moved nearer to his throat. The hand on his chest, the lips. It stirred something in him that wasn't quite pleasant. He began to shake and sweat. He was barely aware of having flung her across the room, of her shrieking, of Zack and Summer or Autumn or whatever the hell her name was running outside of the room, in various stages of undress, to find out what had been happening. Sephiroth folded his arms around himself and rocked.

"What the hell is going on, Sephiroth?" Zack questioned, his tone suddenly sober and quite low. He pulled on his pants, and the blonde went to tend to her friend.

"I just want to leave," Sephiroth replied. He felt very far off, felt like he was seventeen in a lab again being told whether to take a shock or…

"Okay. You've got it," Zack finished dressing, "We can go."

Sephiroth waited outside the apartment, resting his head against the cool concrete with closed eyes while Zack consoled and pled with the women. He murmured something about Wutai and stress, and somehow he managed to calm them down enough to allow him to leave.

When Zack exited the apartment, he turned on Sephiroth with raging blue eyes, "What in the actual hell was that, Sephiroth? If you weren't into it, then you could have just said so. You didn't have to nearly dislocate that chick's shoulder. Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you?"

Everyone had been asking him that lately. It was a lot simpler when they just asked him to assess the likelihood of success from some stratagem on the field. What was the likelihood that the mission would result in high or low casualties? Was taking that fort at this time really worth it? He was good at that. He could answer those questions. He was even better with solo missions, good with swift assassination and overkill.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to push Hojo, the lab, and the girls out of his mind. To be honest, the very thought of sex, of wet thrusting into another woman's body sickened him. He could scarcely stand the uninhibited reactions of his body feeling pleasure with which his mind was unable to reconcile as something wanted. A month had passed before he could tell Zack. He had to find the words.

"That is the most fucked up thing that I've ever heard," Zack placed an arm around Sephiroth's shoulder. He left a little later that day and brought back a bottle of rum that they drank to its last drop and somehow that made it minutely better. Something about their relationship changed.

Sephiroth found his first friend. Upon waking, he sighed. Sephiroth had also been responsible for that man's death along with countless others.

"You're finally awake," Tifa replied from the other side of the cavern, "Good. I started to wake you up. You were moaning something awful." She was staring at him the same way that Zack had that night. The way that he saw her suddenly seemed changed, but it wasn't quite like Zack. She stood, shaking dirt from her rust-colored fatigues and donned her black Protector's jacket. She stretched looking a little worn. He felt it too. Sometime in the night, she'd braided her hair back into a single long braid that now spilled over her shoulder like a chocolate rope. Her lovely eyes…lovely? Yes, lovely eyes regarded him again. Sephiroth felt strange and feverish. He hadn't had the right to force her hand like this.

"We should leave now. Lead on." Sephiroth stepped out into the barren field again. His handiwork made him feel ill. He wondered what might have been here before…a forest, a farm, or a town?

"Hold up a minute." Tifa fished in her pack and handed him a canteen and a ration bar. Much to his disgust, they appeared to be the same formula they'd given to him and his men. Some things never changed. She took a sip from her own steel bottle and said, "You'll want to sip that slowly. I have a third, but we're a good five or six miles off from a river, and we'll be heading into the mountains. We're going to have to take a roundabout path."

Sephiroth nodded, "Understood. I could…ah, carry the satchel."

Her eyes narrowed and she replied in a brusque manner with a quick shaking of her head, "No thanks."

They passed the first several miles in silence, but the nature of silence and loneliness would pull banter from even the worst of enemies. In his mind, He and Tifa were somewhat past that but not by much.

"I can't believe that I'm doing this," Tifa deadpanned, "I can't believe that Humboldt is a traitor. What am I going to tell Cloud?"

Although Sephiroth had been sure that the question was rhetorical, he couldn't refrain from replying, "I am sure that you will uncover valuable intel."

She fixed him with a smart look and repeated what he said mockingly before apologizing, "I'm trying so hard not to be like this." She began to pant, they were climbing in elevation now. The terrain changed and hadn't seemed so bare and sparse. Grass appeared. Sephiroth observed a far off trickle of a stream that was steadily growing. Tifa had slowed down significantly. Indeed, she'd begun to limp.

"What is wrong with your leg?" He'd stopped in his stride.

"Nothing," she replied quickly, too quickly, never once stopping.

"Let's take a break," Sephiroth said, studying her leg further.

"Taking a break means losing time and sunlight."

He sighed, ran a hand through his hair, "You'll lose days if you can't walk."

She sighed in kind, "Fine."

"Sit there," Sephiroth pointed to a rock. The boulder was unusually flat on the surface. He took her satchel and strapped it across his back. He peeled back one of the loose-fitting pant legs to examine her right leg. The ankle was bruised, but the shin seemed worse.

"My ankle was fractured," Tifa said suddenly, "When the Insurrection invaded, I had to jump out of a window."

"You seem to have a shin splint," Sephiroth pressed into the flesh. He'd seen this many times in war.

"Ah," Tifa said with a sardonic laugh to herself after having recoiled in pain, "That would be from jumping out of the truck. I tumbled over a few stones rolling down the hill. Hadn't noticed at the time."

He listened her with an incredulous air. Had they met under different circumstances, she might have made a fine SOLDIER. He examined his blade, touching each of the standard-issue materia, finding the one for which he'd been looking, "It isn't fully mastered, and there's always something to be found wanting with factory produced materia." A warm glow emanated from his hand, "That was weak, but it's better than a potion. You should be fine to continue on, but we'll have to go at a slower pace."

She groaned and immediately set off only thanking him after another mile down the road. He couldn't blame her hostility. He had taken everything from her, made her life a unique hell, compared to the others whom he had just casually devastated. They reached the river at the apex of a large hill or small mountain, and Sephiroth watched it rush downstream back out toward the coast further southwest. A pocket of virgin forest fanned out beneath them, bordered in by bare red rock. He spied a hawk in the distance. A pang of regret took his body again.

"Hey!" Tifa called from near the river's edge, "We need to refill the canteens. There are water purification tablets in the pack."

He knelt beside her to work and spoke, "I should have gotten to know this land better."

Tifa didn't have a ready reply but just turned to him and listened.

"I've only ever been a handful of places outside of Midgar and Junon and hardly ever for pleasure." He left unspoken that perhaps that's what drew him to Jenova. She filled him with feelings of freedom, exploration, and ascendance.

She seemed thoughtful a minute before replying, "I can understand that. All the time that we traveled, we spent it running or fighting. I learned how to scout out of necessity not fun."

"We're very similar," Sephiroth murmured.

That had spoilt the moment of whatever that might have been. Tifa frowned and hadn't spoken to him for the rest of the day until they pitched up camp that night on a colder, higher peak further into the mountains. She'd seemed even touchier too, and he knew why. They were perhaps fifty miles off from Nibelheim, but the terrain made the town seem as if it were five minutes away.

That's why he didn't put up much of a fuss when she was insistent on traveling south toward the Gold Saucer on a circuitous route away from the pin on her map that specified where Lucrecia dwelt. Sephiroth busied himself building a fire near the base of an old hollow tree.

He saw her watching him, "Ventilates smoke without drawing attention," Sephiroth offered.

"How did you learn that?" Tifa inquired, unwrapping another ration bar.

"SOLDIER training. Camp routine was a significant part of it. That and foraging, it made eating those things," he gestured toward her ration bar, "More bearable with the added variety. I'm surprised that we haven't seen more wildlife yet."

"I'm not." Tifa replied, "Meat is kind of hard to come by these days, but the last year's survey of this area said that there was a small population of wild goats coming out of the forest. Shame though that the monsters are on the rebound. Something you should know…tomorrow morning, when we cross the river, we'll be in enemy territory."

He nodded and volunteered, "I'll take first watch." As she sank down near the fire, the amber glow softened her already smooth features. A strange, unnamable something filled him. It hadn't been like before with Jane or whoever. It felt different. He quashed the feeling. He hadn't the right to feel more for her than gratitude. Anyhow, he was certain that it was just base attraction. He was a man after all, and despite _those_ difficulties, Tifa's beauty was apparent to any eye.

* * *

A/N: WHUT? Double update? That's practically unheard of for me. To be fair, I'm stressed out with my upcoming move, and I had this idea rolling around in my head at work. I'm moving into a larger apartment with a friend and have to pack up everything in a few days. Now about the story, I always envisioned Zack as a bit of a dudebro. Sorry, Crisis Core fans. While his personality has been retconned to be more in line with a typical protagonist, Cloud learned his SOLDIER persona from Zack, who apparently was somewhat of an ass based off Cloud's possible jerkass responses in the original game. I know that FFVII's original director tried to clear the air on this issue after Crisis Core came out to dispel the belief that Cloud's idealized version of his perfect SOLDIER self was based on Zack. He instead claimed that Cloud based his idea through the assumption of what he believed a SOLDIER should be. Okay, sure. Or, maybe it's more marketable to pitch a likeable protagonist in a new game. Either way, I wrote my Zack to be balanced between cocky dudebro and an honorable warrior with a heart of gold. It's interesting too to delve into Sephiroth's past. It is so poorly established in the canon. You know that he was the result of an experiment, that he was lied to about what he was, and that his childhood was lonely, but the developers never really dealt well with what it meant to be reduced to an object and how that might have colored his life. As I write Sephiroth, I prefer to portray him as a person suffering from alexithymia, a disorder in which the sufferer has difficulty understanding and explaining his emotions among other things. It is a condition present in survivors of abuse and neglect, which obviously affected Sephiroth in the canon. It's interesting the the game's writers included such a misstep in Shinra's treatment of Sephiroth. If I developed a super soldier, I'd do everything in my power to see that he came out more Captain America, albeit evilly-aligned, than Sabretooth, borderline unstable. Again, I wonder how such an obvious plot failing will be handled in the remake. Expect the next update sometime mid-August.


	13. Chapter 13

Oblivion

* * *

Chapter 13

Just before dawn, the stars were still visible. Tifa couldn't help but stare in wonder at the theatre of constellations shining down on her. She couldn't help but think back to her childhood beneath them. So deep into the mountains and so small, Nibelheim never generated enough artificial light to diffuse the heaven's brilliance. Handfuls of villagers would gather by their windows, in the town square, or cluster atop the water tower at night to gossip, dream of elsewhere, or simply marvel.

"You're awake," Sephiroth said. It hadn't been a question. He prodded his half-hidden fire. Tifa smelt meat cooking that she couldn't immediately identify, but it made her positively salivate. She rubbed a hand across her sleep-crusted eyes and yawned.

"I found a juvenile chocobo that had wandered out of the forest during the night. There are a few chanterelles too," Sephiroth murmured. In her clearing vision, Tifa saw hunks of flesh and mushrooms skewered on stick, which he rotated expertly. If it had been her, she might have caught the whole lot of it on fire. Sephiroth spoke again, "If memory serves me correctly, we are near an old Shinra catchment. I recall it from a map."

That was some memory. She cleared her throat, "Yeah. That's right. We'll try to go around that. We've been following the river for three days. It feeds into a canal, which goes right past the old base. I think there's an," she coughed and reached for her canteen, taking a long drink before finishing her thought, "Old bridge that crosses it. We'll walk on the other side, several miles inland." Tifa stood slowly, walked to the riverside and splashed the cool water against her face. In the dark flows, she caught her distorted reflection. The vision stilled. Tifa felt reminded of her twenty-year old self with frayed ends to her hair, red-ringed eyes, and a dirt-smudged and sallow complexion — someone who was always on the run. Age's subtlety revealed itself too like a river wearing away a cliff's face. Her cheeks were less full, their bones more defined. Her eyes held a certain sharpness that hadn't existed several years ago. The eyelids seemed heavier. She touched her brow bone. She was too old to be getting dragged away by her emotions yet again.

She splashed water down her back, grateful for the cold spray disturbing the previous night's sweat and grime that clung to her skin, and turned to join Sephiroth by the campfire. He offered her a skewer. Tifa nibbled slowly, lost in her thoughts. It was nice to have something other than those foul ration bars for once.

"I believe that there's a town even further inland as well." Sephiroth mused, staring into the fire as he ate.

Tifa nodded, "Right again. It's called Thrymheim. It's a border town outside of the compact with the PF, but it isn't aligned with the Insurrection either…at least it wasn't at the last briefing I knew about. Who knows now," She shrugged, sucking at the bland meat. A touch of salt would have been wonderful.

"It would be a useful supply point." Sephiroth replied. He fed the fire his equally empty skewer and withdrew the other. He stared at it for a moment before extending it to Tifa. She declined. He devoured it with gusto, licking the ends of his fingers when finished, "Waste not, want not."

Tifa fought the urge to pull a face. He behaved like a starved man. Well…by all accounts, he had been. A twinge of guilt pulled at her. They were all culpable for how they had treated or rather mistreated him. She wasn't sure when _it_ had happened. Perhaps on the second day, when she'd lost her footing on a treacherous path downhill and nearly tumbled into a deep gully. She saw herself in that instant dashing her brains out on the sharp river rocks below until his sure grasp seized her arm and steadied her.

It took too much energy to hate. It wasn't who she was. Perhaps she wasn't ready to forgive, but she could — she could see him for the victim that he was. She sighed, thinking about the town. It would have been nice to have a real sleeping pallet…but, "I don't know. We only have tentative relations with the town, and currency this far out really isn't worth much anymore. But, it may be worth a shot. However, you'd have to stay on the outskirts."

"Out of the question," Sephiroth's voice took on an edge, "Your people's relationship with this community sounds tense at best, and you're in a conflict environment."

There he went using the c-word. That hot poker just kept thrusting into her and twisting. Tifa ground her teeth. It wasn't a war. It was…something that felt and smelt like it but wasn't it. She replied more sharply than she intended, "Do you honestly expect to just waltz right into the middle of town? Outside of the PF Confederation, no one scarcely knows that you're alive. If you think that you can walk in looking like…well, you with your ridiculous silver hair and glowing eyes and expect people not to flip their lids, then think again."

Something flashed across his face. Lukewarm amusement? Equally tepid irritation? His usual impassive mask replaced whatever it had been. He fingered a lock of that aforementioned ridiculous silver hair, "You've made your point, but mine still stands. You have no idea what's waiting for you in Thrymheim, and I too infer that you're not in unknown variable even this far out in the wilds." Sephiroth stood and kicked a volley of dirt over the fire, smothering it. He knelt near her side, his body heat radiating off of him in the chill morning air, and picked up her pack, slinging it over his shoulder.

She paced in front of him and pointed downstream, "That may be the case, but people are less likely to know what I look like than you. We have two miles until the bridge. Six to Thrymheim after it." They walked in silence, and her feelings continued to gnaw at her. She knew what she had been told about Costa del Sol, but hearing was so much different than seeing it firsthand. How had Cloud been faring in this moment? What about Janine or Johnny? She even thought of Blair De Souza and his seedy little tavern. Then there was her house, her lovely villa with its beige stucco plastering and high windows. How luxurious it would feel to nestle into cool silken sheets and rest one's head against feather down pillows.

All gone. Bitterness seized her when she realized her whole life was likely ash and broken beams yet again. Should she apologize to Sephiroth? She had been nasty, unnecessarily so. Quiet down, guilt. Put your mind on the mission, she thought.

Nibelheim was sixty miles northwest of them now. That put the Gold Saucer another forty or so south. A sparse pine forest arose around them as they began to climb in elevation. The unnamed river sank into another gorge beneath them. There the bridge welled up on the horizon and drew steadily closer.

Tifa chuckled wryly, "It can never be a nice, sturdy metal bridge, can it? Look at those ropes."

Sephiroth considered them as they came upon the bridge, "They look rotted. The planks seem none too reliable either."

Tifa took a ginger step forward. The bridge released a wooden whine and buckled beneath her. That was fine, she thought in vain to calm her frozen guts. All bridges did that. Another step. Both of her feet were planted on the bridge now. Sephiroth followed.

"Careful now," Tifa whispered as if her voice might disturb the bridge. She looked back at him only to catch a dramatic eye roll. What an ass. She clung to the rope railing, wriggling forward. Slowly now. She licked her lips and wiped a bead of perspiration from her eyes that had nothing to do with the weather. Sephiroth adopted the same cautious approach, never standing on the same beam.

Something snapped. She began to slide and only barely caught herself. The bridge had given way from the side where they'd entered.

"Hold onto the railing," Sephiroth shouted gruffly. He didn't have to tell her twice. She clung onto the fraying rope by a mere few fingers. The whole edifice swung forward, making her nauseous and dizzy.

That few minutes felt like suspended days. The sunless dawn sky froze into place. Only the wind seemed to be in constant motion as it whipped past her eyes, drawing tears. They collided with the hillside. She nearly lost her grasp. The shock stung her entire body. Small reverberations pitched them into a pendulum-like movement. There was no time to be dazed.

She climbed, burying her fingertips into the rope, chipping her nails and burning her hands against the strain. Planks fell into the water beneath them, which suddenly seemed much further away…at least a seventy foot drop, likely not survivable. Five more painful handholds, she climbed and seized the cliff's edge.

Praise be to solid stone. She released her other hand, hefted herself over the edge with a single shaky breath. Sweat beaded down her eyes as she collapsed onto the ground, feeling thoroughly winded. Sephiroth followed. He looked as if this hadn't at all caught him by surprise. He extended a canteen to her. She pushed herself into a cross-legged squat and accepted the bottle. Water had never seemed so wonderful. She fought the urge to splash some onto her face, knowing that they had many more miles to go and hours to walk before they found themselves stopping to refill again.

"I seem to possess poor luck with you and bridges," Sephiroth said, his tone betraying nothing but with eyes full of amusement. Was that a joke? She panted and pulled herself to her knees. She might have laughed if he hadn't reminded her of those last black days in Nibelheim.

Damn him if he didn't try. She gave him a small conciliatory smile, "Maybe. Sorry about earlier. I'm not normally like this. It's just hard, y'know." It was more likely that he didn't know. Her knees stung. Through torn fabric, she saw they were scuffed. She'd deal with it. Tifa hissed as she watched a cringe-inducing gash above Sephiroth's eye stitch itself back together. Cloud healed quickly too, but this was on an altogether different level.

"Yes?" Sephiroth quirked a brow.

Tifa's cheeks colored. Had she really been studying him so intently? She cleared her throat, pulling herself to her feet, "You have…had a cut above your eye." She touched her face to indicate where it had been.

He mimicked her movements, smearing his fingertips in the still wet blood, "It must have been small. I didn't notice."

She led him further into mountains, uphill again. An offshoot of the river appeared that she hadn't remembered, and it made her worry that she'd somehow lost their path until they came upon terraced fields, cut into the hillside. Sickly waves of wheat quivered in the breeze. Ah, it made sense now. Smaller channels fed off of this hand-dug river, irrigating the crops. She spied a crude stone windmill further down the stream, which could have had several dozen functions. It was strangely hypnotic, a golden staircase extending upwards until it reached land that was no longer cultivable. A few fruit trees disrupted the scene, their bounty long since harvested with leaves in autumnal golds and reds.

"No farmers." Sephiroth stated.

"It's still too early." Tifa replied. The sun hadn't yet fully risen. A sudden curiosity played at her, "Have you always healed so quickly?"

"No," his tone was short. He added, "You've read my files. Surely you'd know as well as me."

She shrugged, "Documents can and do lie. Sorry if that brought back bad memories."

He said nothing, only studied the path in front of them.

Tifa sighed, "You should break off here. Find cover. If memory serves me right, then the town is just around the bend."

"I still don't like this." Sephiroth said suddenly. He touched her shoulder lightly, which gave her pause. It perturbed her enough to see this man as a strangely social being if not a little awkward, but now he was casually touching her? She looked at the hand that hovered at her back and frowned. Should she say something? No. She was being silly. Of course he'd touch her here and there to emphasize a point or grab her attention. He was in SOLDIER after all. It was exactly the same in the Protector Force. Sephiroth seemed to have noticed something in her reaction and folded his arms, "Subterfuge never has been my specialty, but I know how to be unseen."

Tifa shook her head, that Nibelheim lilt to her accent asserting itself whenever she found something absolutely ludicrous, "P'shaw. You're more noticeable than a lime tree growing in the middle of Icicle Inn."

"You are prone to hyperbole."

"And, you are prone to speaking bullshit."

Sephiroth snorted at her retort before erupting into a full-bodied laugh. The rich baritone carried on the wind, "I've been wondering the past few days how you might have fared in SOLDIER, but you are one of the most obstinate people I've yet known."

She rolled her eyes, "Damn straight. Exactly why I'm a free agent. No orders or restrictions."

"Is that why you kept coming to my cell despite your husband's admonishments?"

How in the hell? The nearly playful nature to their argument had dissipated immediately, and Tifa's countenance took on a stormy nature. How could she let her guard down? Did she forget who he was? All of the stories had fixated on Sephiroth's monstrous strength, and everything that followed after the tragedy in Nibelheim made him seem all the more a raving brute. It was easy to forget that sharp intellect. He had been gaming her for information every day. This was never supposed to be an equal exchange. She had to remain in control because despite how she might have pitied him, she just couldn't forget what he had done. She couldn't wait to see the backend of him, retreating into the twilight whenever whatever this was had finished.

She left him and continued down the path into Thrymheim. Sephiroth either retreated or hadn't into the wheat fields. She hadn't turned back to look. The village reminded her of the Nibelheim from her childhood, before the reactor had been built. It was all cobblestone lanes and houses of deep, dark wood. Everything seemed as if it had seen better days. She stumbled over missing or uneven stones on the walkway and noted the abrupt absence of street lamps or electric lighting of any nature really. It was hard to tell if things had become or always were this way. Some communities remained disconnected from the world.

"Hey there," a man called out to her from across town square. Tifa nearly cursed in shock. Everything had seemed deserted until this man strode out of…well, she hadn't seen from where he'd emerged. She should have been paying better attention. As he drew nearer, she examined his features. Tanned, tall, and sandy-haired, the stranger didn't have an ounce of fat on him. His honey-colored eyes had a faint glow to them, which didn't immediately set Tifa on edge. It wasn't unusual for people this far into the continent and so near natural mako springs to possess such a trait. She had too at one time, but it faded over the years.

The man called out to her again, "Don't know you from around these parts. You come in through the backroads?"

Tifa walked up to him, nodding, "If that's the way through the fields, then yes."

He seemed to be sizing her up as well, his eyes settled onto her gloves and materia, "Hm, what's brings you to Thrymheim?" He pronounced it like "thrum-haim," his accent guttural and heavy on vowels. It wasn't what she was expecting around these parts, but Tifa refused to let that put her off as she scanned the town for other folks rising and leaving their houses to work.

She stuck out a hand, "Name's Zenovia." It had been her mother's…the only one besides her own that wouldn't make her pause unnaturally when addressed.

"That's some name. Mine's Pole. Mind if I call you Zee? No? Good. Pleased to meet you." He took her hand into his larger one, stroking her exposed knuckles with callused fingers as he shook it, "Now what can I do you for, Zee?"

Niceties over, Zee or Tifa starred into Pole's face, studying it…looking for any indication of malice or deception. He appeared perfectly jovial…safe. She considered her judgement of people to be fairly solid. She hadn't needed Sephiroth along at all. His fears seemed baseless. Besides, she was certain that she could take him if any trouble arose. She spoke, "Looking for trade."

Pole seemed amused and snorted, "There ain't much around here worth trading. You're telling me though that you've been on the road all lonesome-like?"

She hadn't said that at all. Tifa's answer neither confirmed nor denied his query, "I've been here and there. Haven't seen too much trouble. I just need some basics."

He whistled, the sound low and sweet. If Tifa hadn't been married, she might have found him and his honey hazel eyes quite striking. There seemed to be something more to him. He gestured toward her, "Well, Zee, tell you what…we've got a few things. What've you got worth bartering? Gil's no good here, you've got to know."

She'd thought as much. Tifa followed him slowly, hesitantly, "I have a few odds and ends that might strike your fancy. Are you the leader here? How long have you been farming these parts?"

Pole led her into a low, squat building that looked like it might have once been a tavern or a general store. There was a long counter at one end of the room. An assortment of crates sat behind it. He pointed out a table, "I guess you could say that. I've been here pretty much all my life though. This here is our meeting hall." He beckoned her to sit, having pulled out a chair for her.

Tifa preferred to stand but sat anyhow. She didn't want to appear rude, "About those goods?"

"Just you wait now, Zee. I don't know how they do things in your part of the world, but we're used to slow talk around here. Besides, it's a dangerous world these days, and everyone could do with a little bit of hospitality. Just look at you, looking all starved and dusty." Pole sat across from her with folded arms.

He beckoned to another man who'd entered the hall, "Guts, this is Zenovia or Zee. Zee, Guts." Strange name.

Tifa offered her hand, which was quickly received, "Pleased to meet you, Guts. That's some grip. All that from farming?"

Guts laughed none too warmly, "It's the kind of life that'll toughen you up for sure."

She wasn't quite sure how to respond. Pole quickly cut in, "Guts, why don't you go fetch Zee some porridge."

"I'm fine," she replied quickly, waving a hand.

"Nonsense," Pole said, snorting, "I wouldn't dream of having a lady like yourself sitting in front of me having just hauled ass from who knows where without a proper meal. If I had more time, might've drawn you a bath too. Say, where are you from?"

Tifa had almost blurted out Nibelheim, but _that_ might draw further unwelcome inquiries in to her past. She sucked her teeth before answering, "Mimir's Well."

Pole frowned, in thought, "Never heard of it."

She had a few questions of her own, but she had to approach them gingerly, "You haven't had any trouble around these parts?"

Guts answered for Pole, returning with a steaming bowl of sweet-smelling pounded wheat, "Nothing that comes to mind. Here you are, Zee. I added an extra dollop of cream just for you."

"Well," Tifa said, swirling the spoon in the bowl, "There's been some trouble in other towns further from the mountains. Land disputes or so I've heard."

Pole thrummed his fingers across the table, "We've heard something of it, but it's been nice and quiet here in Thrymheim. You're going to let that get cold?"

"No," Tifa hadn't wanted to offend. She had to steer this talk toward goods and might as well entertain them and their country sentiments. She took one bite and then another. She almost moaned in the back of her throat at the flavor. Though the golden mush wasn't much to look at it, she found it almost overwhelming to be treated to real food prepared in a kitchen with honey, cream, and…almonds? She hadn't tasted an almond in nearly five years.

"Guts, fetch the lady some tea," Pole said to his companion, "The lavender blend. I'm sure she'll appreciate that."

"That's too much, Pole." Tifa replied, "Lavender is mighty expensive these days. How might you've come by it?"

Pole smiled, "We do a bit of trade. Wheat, fruit, and milk for some of the more exotic things. Keeps things running here."

In spite of herself, Tifa felt herself warming to the kindly man, letting down her guard. She caught a glimpse of another three men walking just beyond the meeting hall. Something struck her as odd, "Your town's women don't farm?"

"What?" Pole replied. Guts had returned with a kettle and a dainty, chipped set of cups, already steaming with the amber liquid.

"Well, I saw some farmers through the window. It's just a little odd. Back in ah Mimir's Well everyone pitched in…it was the sort of trade that called for all hands on deck." Tifa inquired again. She thought back to her youth when Nibelheim still cultivated its own food. She used to glean the fields after harvests with her mother until Zenovia became too ill to get out of bed. Such fond memories. She absentmindedly took a long swig of tea.

The other man suddenly seemed flustered, "Well, ah, that is to say we save the lighter labor for the women."

"You all must be doing well for…yourselves…then," Tifa's words had become slurred. She felt sluggish. She stood suddenly from the table. Her arms felt like she'd been sloshing through a current of jelly, "Wha…did…you…do?" Her tongue felt fat and heavy. She couldn't form her words properly.

Pole was up from the table at once. Guts was behind her. Several more men entered the room. Her vision spun. She attempted to cast an ice spell and failed, unable to focus her thoughts and form her words. She launched a clumsy kick into Guts' left shin, and the man grunted and pitched forward. He shouted, "Someone grab that bitch!"

It was like kicking a wall. Gaia, how could she have been so stupid? She'd lived in a farming town for most of her early life. She knew what farmers looked like, and these guys weren't it. She ran out of the building. She felt like vomiting up everything inside of her body for the way the sudden movement made her feel.

"Dammit, Guts," Pole shouted after her, "I thought you put in enough tranquilizer to take down a behemoth."

"I did man," said the other, "It obviously ain't all in her system yet."

Maybe he did or didn't. It didn't matter. Tifa was caught. Another several men ran at her and she was too dizzy to resist one's tackle as he threw her to the ground. This was it. Her knees gave way, and all she could do was stare through unfocused eyes up at the sky. What a beautiful view.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for the lovely reviews! The next update will come fairly quickly. Writing a post-Meteor, older Tifa in this AU is interesting. Her essential defining traits are mothering, forthright though shy, instinct-driven, and optimistic. These traits present themselves as a sort of double-edged sword making her reckless and self-disregarding. As with Sephiroth, it's still a challenge to balance what's established about her at age 20 with a more world-weary woman heading into her late twenties. It's even more challenging given that more is established on Tifa. I didn't like the direction that her character took in Advent Children (same for Cloud). So, I've been pushing them both down a very different path in this story, and it's never addressed how the FFVII time gap between Nibelheim and Midgar may have affected her. You know nothing really about how she survived or what she was doing all of that time. As I've done with Sephiroth, I'll eventually delve into that unaddressed past. I find too that it's much more fun to work with older protagonists. Every FF game except for FFXII is essentially a coming of age story for the protagonists against an action-driven background. Older characters (à la Auron from FFX) are usually in the supporting roles. I get it, given that the target demographic is younger, but I think it's fun to work with older leads. They have more to offer.

A few comments on my naming choices for locations and Tifa's mother: Final fantasy throughout its many games draws on mythological inspiration for place, creature, and weapon names. FFVII in particularly seemed to like Norse place names as Midgar (Midgard) and Nibleheim (Niflheim) show. So I've continued that trend for places expand on the world as Tifa and Sephiroth traverse it. Tifa's name though it hasn't been explicitly stated can be derived from several places, Tiferet(h), which links to the Kabbalistic Tree of Life, further linking her to Sephiroth. Tifa is also associated with Theophania, a Greek name that eventually became the Anglicized Tiffany. Theophania means "manifestation of God," and it still shares close parallels to Sephiroth's name, which is how the general attributes of God are labelled in Kabbalistic beliefs. I settled on Zenovia being Tifa's mother's name as a kind of continuance of this theme. It means "life of Zeus."


	14. Chapter 14

Oblivion

Chapter 14

* * *

Within ten minutes of Tifa clearing the trail, Sephiroth set off up one of the golden hills. He pushed through shoulder-high grain, his thoughts traveling back to Wutai. Time was such a muddle. The war had felt like yesterday though more than ten years had passed. These fields were as yellow as Wutai's rice terraces were green. It had been a beautiful country. His memories fraught with nighttime assassins, burning fields, and half mythical monsters did nothing to mar that beauty — oh, how his thoughts took him back. He shook his head. It wasn't time to get lost. When the fields grew sparser with more of the stalks rolled into hay bales or bent to let tilled land grow fallow, he found himself in a clearing. A loud droning made his ears perk up. Black clouds of flies pulsated over a more distant field, a barren one of fresh upturned earth. Turkey vultures circled overhead.

Something wasn't right. He had seen something akin to this before. Sephiroth rested his hand on the broadsword strapped to his back and paced forward. The smell hit him like a wave, the sickening sweetness of decay. The thickness of it made him want to double over, but he pushed forward, his feet sinking into muck. A gore crow pecked at something. A _human_ finger? An orange scrap stuck out of the earth. Cloth. He knelt, plunged his hand into the soil and found flesh. He tugged, hoping otherwise and pulled up a man's bluish black wrist. His skin sloughed away like jelly, revealing a mass of maggots.

He dug quickly now, almost frantically. The shallow grave revealed body after body — an old man, a woman…a child. He stopped after uncovering the tenth. He needn't dig anymore. He had his answer. So near to Thrymheim, this had to be her people. The grave wasn't new but fresh enough. It had been dug scarcely a week ago, perhaps sooner. At last the face of Tifa's enemy revealed itself in its home country. This was the Insurrection. A panic madder and more intense than that he had felt when he died the second time seized him. Tifa was in that village. You goddamn idiot, why did you let her go alone? You knew better. How much time had passed since he went looking for a back path…an hour? Two? Anything could have happened.

Sephiroth's legs carried him back down the hill faster than any other man, SOLDIER or otherwise, might have run. The area before the bend where he and Tifa had parted welled up quickly. He had unsheathed his sword and readied his materia. He passed through the village gates and snarled. A quick assessment. Obvious signs of a struggle near the square, upturned earth and the imprint of a woman's body — Tifa's. Several men stood dazed in front of a house.

One touched his eyes as if he couldn't trust them, "Is that…"

Sephiroth cast a powerful fire spell, engulfing the speaker completely. That shook the others out of whatever stupor or shock had taken hold of them. One shot at him and missed by a wide mark. It hadn't mattered though. What might have crippled him months ago couldn't touch him now. He grinned wildly, his eyes wide and blazing as he closed the distance between himself and these men with inhuman speed. These mere men, wholly human, ill-trained, and positively shitting themselves with fear. They were armed with only the most basic of weaponry. He had been built for this. They were not.

The man whom he had set ablaze wailed horribly until he stopped, sank to his knees in the town square, and fell forward. How he lived for this, the thrill of battle pulsing in his blood. Take. Subjugate. Dominate. _Tifa_. _Lucrecia_. He thrust forward and downed another of the men. A sheen of blood coated him. The last dropped his rifle and drew a crude knife.

Sephiroth narrowed his eyes, "This won't end well for you. Where is the woman? Speak quickly."

"Go to hell," The man's eyes blazed though his voice wavered, "World destroyer. I don't got shit to say to you." He lunged at Sephiroth who easily countered, slicing off the man's hand. He nearly knelt to grab him as the other fell with a swoon, clutching his bleeding limb, but a new volley of gunfire sounded behind him, almost catching him unawares. The handless man hadn't been so lucky, catching a bullet in the face. Sephiroth threw up a wall spell, the barrier of translucent light shimmering into life. The bullets dinted off and fell to the ground as he flew forward, somersaulting behind the new men. Five, garbed in uniforms of no obvious affiliation. These were better built, more rigorously trained. He recognized these formations, knew them to belong to Shinra's infantrymen.

He caught several across the chest with a series of lightning fast strikes. Another he beheaded, and the last he struck with such force that he nearly cleaved him in half at the waist.

"Holy fuck," another man exclaimed, this one sandy haired with faintly glowing eyes. He recognized him.

"Cyrus Pole, SOLDIER second class, discharged dishonorably for misconduct on the Southern Front." Sephiroth narrowed the distance between them, his hair fanning out behind him, "I believe that you have taken an acquaintance of mine hostage. A woman, dark-haired and of diminutive stature entered this village no less than an hour ago."

"Sir," Pole stammered weakly, backing against the building. He raised his hands and shook, "We have no quarrel with you. None at all."

"And Tifa?" Sephiroth's tone was low, murderous, "Did I train you to kidnap weary travelers or massacre farmers, their wives, and children? Ah, I remember. You seemed to favor violence of a more prurient nature." He smiled frostily, "I am sure you remember how I treat such acts."

Pole swallowed, "I-I-I didn't believe the stories. Half of the intel coming out of Costa del Sol…borderline unreliable."

Sephiroth didn't care an iota about whatever the man had been blubbering about. He pointed the sword at the man's chest, "Tifa. Thrymheim. Talk. If you dared to harm her…"

The other man released a breath, and his eyes took on a black hatred, "As much as I hate those PF fucks, they've got nothing on you. You talk about that bitch and this shithole. Look at Midgar…ain't nothing but a goddamn crater." Pole pushed himself off of the wall, "You want to know what happened to Thrymheim? You did. The way I see it…we don't have anything but ourselves in this new world, and I'll be damned if I place my belief in the PF or cower before you. Kill me, fucker."

Sephiroth grabbed Pole by his face, "My…you seem to have grown a backbone as these long years passed. I won't kill you." He smashed the back of the man's head into the wall. He was out like a light. Sephiroth disarmed him and took what useful materia he could find. He debated cutting off a few limbs. Though the faint glow to Pole's eyes revealed renewed SOLDIER treatments, such a man couldn't be taken lightly. Yet, something seemed unsettling about the prospect of torturing him, giving into his rage. He couldn't be so…he dismissed the thought.

Tifa was his first concern.

Something tugged at him. He searched the house from which Pole exited and found nothing. His eyes fell on a squat building. Sephiroth dragged Pole by his feet through the dirt and over rough stones into this new place. It was a storage room but had been something else before. He found Tifa in the cellar. She was unconscious, pale, and soaked through with sweat. Poisoned, drugged, or both.

He hefted her into his arms and carried her up the stairs and into the main room, laying her on a round wooden table. He checked her pulse, which beat erratically. He slapped Pole, and the former SOLDIER woke with a start. He growled, "What did you do to her?"

Pole's pupils were dilated. He furrowed his brows in confusion. The speech was slurred, "S'was sedative. Poison when she…woke up again. Nothing else, I swear."

"You'd better have an antidote on hand, then."

"Nothing like that here."

Sephiroth gripped the man's throat, "Lie, and I'll kill you." His grasp tightened.

"Honest," Pole wheezed.

"Then you are useless," Sephiroth knocked him out again. The only thing that stayed his hand this time when it itched to end his life was that Tifa might need him. It had been one of her conditions — to learn more about the Insurrection. Sephiroth swept through the crates, found nothing of immediate use…a few more potions than they already had, more choice rations and some spices, basic camp gear, rope, and a few other odds and ends. There were documents too. He made a quick inventory of the needed gear and packed it away into the old pack along with another that he had found. He tied up Pole and turned to tend to Tifa.

Her breathing was labored. Sephiroth shook her gently, "Tifa." She didn't stir. He cast a cure spell on her, but it wasn't the same as a well-placed esuna. Still, she seemed to regain some color and looked more like herself. She'd have to fight this on her own. He took her hand into his. The fingertips were rough and callused. That hadn't surprised him, and though he was certain she would recover, he felt inexplicably…saddened.

They couldn't stay here. Several hours later and several miles from the massacred town, Sephiroth found a cavern in the surrounding grassy foothills that seemed empty. Sephiroth had wasted no time casting a nasty bio spell on Pole who languished several feet from the camp that he prepared in his binds. The man was still unconscious as was Tifa. Sephiroth who was too tired to hunt, sat slumped near a fire. He rubbed a wet cloth over Tifa's eyes. Running a hand through his hair, Sephiroth thought of how Thrymheim had unsettled him. What could Tifa think of him when he had more or less done the same to Nibelheim? How could he even dare to face Lucrecia? What came after? He stifled a yawn or a groan. Even he didn't know, unable to place a finger on how he felt.

Tifa began to stir. She pulled herself into a weak cross-legged seat and slumped onto his chest, "Oh, Cloud. You came for me. Knew you would…you always do."

"I'm not," Sephiroth began. He placed a hand on her forehead. No longer clammy, her wet skin felt feverish. Though the drug had worn off, the poison had yet to leave her system. He turned her and held the woman by her shoulders, "Tifa, you've been poisoned. You're delirious."

"Poisoned? I'll be fine. You're here, Cloud…" Tifa's voice was softer than Sephiroth had ever heard it previously. She pushed out of his hold and wrapped her arms around him. One hand found his back, the other, the hair at the nape of his neck. She pressed soft lips to his throat, "Mmm, your skin is so cool."

He pushed her away at once, and she seemed to heave, leaning over to vomit up bile. Sephiroth reached out to her again, "I apologize."

"Gaia," Tifa grasped her temples. Her far-off gaze cleared, "My head. Sephiroth?" She seemed stricken, and her horror grew as a sudden realization claimed her eyes, "Did I…you?" She covered her mouth and rose to her feet weakly, "I need some air."

"Wait," Sephiroth called, "You only just recovered, and we are gods know where. It's nearly dusk. There will be monsters."

"Not going far. Need the bathroom," she pointed to a largish rock perhaps thirty feet off from where they were.

Sephiroth grit his teeth but relented and withheld whatever he might have said.

On the other side of the camp, Pole, who writhed in agony upon awakening, chuckled, "Still don't know what to make of this shit."

Sephiroth picked up his blade and pointed it at him, "You, don't speak."

Tifa returned shortly, fumbled through the old pack for cleanser and then settled near the fire. She stared at everything but him.

"I apologize," Sephiroth offered again.

She shook her head, "My fault. Need to sleep…still sick. You take the first watch, okay?" She hadn't noticed Pole and said nothing about the bedroll on which she settled. None of the changes had seemed to faze her more than that accidental exchange between them.

"I can take first watch," Sephiroth fished in the second pack and withdrew a hyper, the tonic so-called for its instantaneous stimulating effect on the body. He downed it in a single gulp, "You rest. We'll worry about this tomorrow."

"Thanks," she murmured and closed her eyes.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, another subconscious, nervous habit. He couldn't rightly say why but would have given anything to hear her speak to him softly again. The gentle touch and her kiss in equal parts thrilled and horrified him. A murk of unknowable things filled him. He could only peer at them like gauze, having no name for these things. He cast his gaze down to her beautiful lashes. He felt reminded of the cast of a war goddess he had seen in the ruined palace of Wutai's capital. It had intrigued him. He found so many similarities between the bronze and Tifa, whose dirty and battered form seemed as if it couldn't have been more… He was unsure how to finish that thought.

"How ridiculous," Sephiroth murmured, placing a hand over his face. There was so much to do. He put his mind on what he knew, camp routine and re-securing their prisoner.

* * *

A/N: And, now a dash of melodrama. Narrated from Tifa's perspective, the next chapter will reveal answer some of the questions swirling around what the Insurrection is along with its goals. It's also going to be fun examining _the moment_ through her eyes.


	15. Chapter 15

Oblivion

* * *

Chapter 15

The sun seemed almost to pulsate above her when she first opened her eyes, but at least she finally lay on something soft. She licked her cracked lips with a sandpaper rough tongue and clutched her head. The ground spun. No hangover or bout of foodborne illness could ever compare to recovering from materia urged poisoning. Tifa knew that she should…had to eat but couldn't find the will as her stomach dropped at a new thought. With a thrill of terror that ran down her spine, she recalled kissing Sephiroth. No, more accurately she kissed a feverish phantasm of her husband on that sensitive soft point on his throat that made him want to ravish her. She had been so grateful. Except where she saw Cloud sat Sephiroth. She moaned miserably. How could Tifa possibly come back from this?

"I see that you're awake. Here. I thought you might be thirsty," Sephiroth kept his voice low and handed her a canteen.

She mumbled her thanks and forced herself to drink. It had been their usual morning routine, but everything seemed to have taken on a new double meaning.

"I realize that you must be feeling…awkward about last night," he whispered, "You haven't noticed that I recovered one of your captors."

Oh! She turned and looked wildly around the camp. Goddammit was this silly. Here she was fixated on some stupid moment when there lay Pole, who lay very still indeed. He had a chalk-like pallor. She quirked a brow, "Is he alive?"

"Very," Sephiroth replied darkly, "I cast a bio spell on him to see how he might like a taste of his own poison."

It wasn't in Tifa to be spiteful, but she felt a small satisfaction given how she felt, "Good. Can I talk to you for a sec? Over there?" She gestured further off to a tree.

Her companion quirked a brow, "I understand your need discretion, but I would rather not leave Pole unsecured. After all, he was in SOLDIER at one time."

That startled her. She recalled that Pole's eyes emitted a sort of glow, but they were much dimmer than Sephiroth's, Cloud's, or Zack's. Then again, how much did she really know about that super soldier factory? Cloud really didn't count. She furrowed her brows, "I don't understand entirely, but you're right. Sorry, I'm being a little over-the-top right now." Tifa lowered her voice to a whisper, confident that Sephiroth with his enhanced hearing could follow her, "Look, I'm not attracted to you. Shit. Not what I meant to say… I was out of my head, and I'm sorry about that. Sorry about touching you given…your past. I apologize if that made you uncomfortable. I apologize too for my utter lack of judgement. Everything about that Thrymheim episode was wholly my fault, and I need to own this."

Sephiroth began, "There's no need…"

She interrupted him, raising a hand, "I owe you my life. You know that my help came with conditions, which you've already more than met. In the past several days, you have more than shown me that you are not the monster who gave me nightmares. I live by my instincts...they're the only reason that I made it to twenty-six. They might have led me up a creek the other day, but I'm not wrong about you. There'll be no more bullshit, no more snark. Your reluctant companion will gladly take you to Lucrecia and help you find your peace."

His too-cool-to-react mask, as Tifa saw it, shattered. Sephiroth gasped and grasped her hands. She neither cringed nor shied away. He seemed overwhelmed, "I…I can't find the words to say what this means to me. What I let myself become and do…having seen the damage, I must confess that I didn't expect anyone to be kind to me ever again."

The illness had left her more vulnerable, more open to expressing herself. Tears brimmed in Tifa's eyes, "What I know about you makes it sound like there wasn't much kindness in your life to begin with, and I'm sorry about that. You see…my life up to fifteen. It had its sad moments, but it was mostly good. I knew what it meant to be loved and how to love. People valued me." She held his hands with equal ferocity. She knew then that a bond had kindled between them as she stared into his eyes, the slit pupils fully dilated, "I can't give you what I had, but I can damn well give you my friendship."

"I hardly deserve it." Sephiroth's tone was doubtful.

She gave a small laugh, "You can't change my mind once I've decided on a thing."

"Don't I know it." He retorted with the barest hint of a smile.

Both rose then and turned their attentions to Pole. He stared up at them from where he was restrained. A foul smell wafted up to Tifa's nostrils. He had soiled himself sometime in the night, but she found it hard to have sympathy. He brought this on himself. To have drugged her, to have poisoned her, to have intended Gaia knows what for her…she wanted to pummel him within an inch of his life. Her hands twitched.

Sephiroth seeming to sense something, restrained her, "Some men respond to pain, but if he's any measure of a SOLDIER still, then torture will have no effect."

Pole spat a nasty greenish gob at his side and murmured weakly, "I won't talk."

Tifa watched Sephiroth who had donned the most vicious grin. Her companion supplied, "Oh, I think you will." He pulled Tifa aside for a moment, "Two questions."

"Shoot."

"Is Godo Kisaragi still alive, and is Wutai in fair condition? Even if not, it'll be in our interests to pretend so."

She was confused, "On both accounts yes. Wutai was the fastest country to recover after Meteor, functional government and all, but why does it matter?"

Sephiroth placed a hand on her shoulder, "You'll see."

They returned to Pole, and Sephiroth drew himself up into what Tifa imagined to be his most authoritative and domineering self. He towered over Pole who played at a poor imitation of fearlessness. His lower lip quivered, "I won't tell you a goddamn thing. I told you to kill me already."

Sephiroth let out a long exhale before he began to recount a brief story that chilled Tifa to her core, "Ten years ago, I very well might have killed you. How fortunate for you that I followed SOLDIER disciplinary protocol so thoroughly. You and your squad commander were ordered to sweep the village of Shan for enemy combatants, but instead you assaulted its pagoda's priestesses and burned its altars. The act might not ever have been known if I hadn't noticed the contraband that you brought back." He wagged a finger.

His lips thinned and he continued, "Trophies I assumed, torn silk and temple figurines. You are so very lucky that I didn't kill you." Sephiroth's hand went for his sword unconsciously, "Your trial was a sham, and where you should have been executed, you were released from SOLDIER. The exigencies of war they said." Sephiroth snorted, his eyes dark. Tifa felt like she should reach out to him, place a hand on his shoulder or back. She couldn't have imagined so horrific a scene. It made her dread what might have occurred in attacked border towns.

"But, as you may already know Wutai is much recovered," Sephiroth said, "And, they would be all too eager to have one of the defilers of the pagoda of Shan in their hands. Torture may be no good for immediate intel extraction from you, but how many years do you think you can endure at their hands before your body breaks…especially knowing that there is nothing that you can say or do to get them to release you, but I will set you free, again much to my consternation, if you but answer a few questions."

Pole's eyes flashed, and Tifa watched him as he considered the grim implications of all that Sephiroth had said. She had to say something, to add more credibility to the threat, "Don't think that we can't send you, Pole. Princess Yuffie Kisaragi is a close friend of mine, and there is no truer patriot of Wutai than her."

The poison that was still active in her enemy made him more exposed, just as it had done with her. His skin blanched impossibly whiter, and he seemed to tremble. She couldn't say whether it was out of fear or a physiological reaction.

"Imagine feeling this every day but far worse. You must remember that the warriors of Wutai have a thousand worse poisons and countless techniques. Remember how those who were captured were nearly catatonic when we recovered them?" Sephiroth whispered, "What they'll do to you won't ever stop."

"Alright," Pole was hoarse, "I'll answer your damn questions."  
Tifa licked her lips and took a sip again from the canteen still in her hand. There was so much to ask, "Why are you doing this? What do you want? We attempted to negotiate with you."

"Do you have to ask, bitch?"

"Watch it." Sephiroth warned.

"It's fine." Tifa patted his arm. He returned the most incredulous stare.

Pole laughed noiselessly, his breath catching in his throat and sending him into a spasm. Once it had cleared, he spoke again, "Freedom. We want to be free."

Tifa raised a brow. She couldn't believe what she was hearing, "You call massacring innocents freedom? I want real answers."

He spat at her feet and snarled, "Freedom by any means. You people think that you're so good. You along with him plunge the world into disaster and then claim you saved it. You come, tell us to pay taxes for our own lands, and to abide by your rules. Let me ask you something, Tifa. Who the fuck elected you people? I certainly didn't have a vote."

Tifa rubbed her arms, thoughts reeling. They had toiled endlessly to revitalize the world, clear up dead zones in the ocean, and repair Shinra factories that leached mako. Voting? Elections? She stared at him with hard eyes, "Grow up. The PF Confederation is perfectly fair. Do you think that you could have amassed the manpower to tackle the problems that we were left with? Do you think that your group of terrorists would have done anything more than rape and pillage? Pole, we all had choices. You chose savagery, and I chose civilization."

"You stupid cow, you've sat there aloft in your golden tower in Costa del Sol. How much have you even seen of the world to know that it's still fucked up?"

"I worked on the farms myself." Tifa thrust out her hands, "These hands have worked tirelessly."

Pole smiled nastily, "Give me a break. Have you even seen the South, Tifa? Really ever visited the areas between the cities that you've built up?" He had her there. Everywhere in the Cosmo and South Corel regions was a blank spot. She had been more needed in the cities. Pole continued, "Your husband struts through our villages, looks at our skeletal children and wives, talks about goddamn taxes, and a need to chip in a fair share. You can talk all hoity-toity about civilization as much as you like. I call it like I see it. You think you're so much better than Shinra, but you're the same deal in a slicker package."

"You're wrong." Tifa said suddenly. She felt more than unsettled.

"You know why negotiations broke down? Because we don't owe you a goddamn thing. We are starving. Our lives are hell. We don't want your rules or your government. We will till where we see fit."

"Who's leading you? Who's making more SOLDIERs?" Tifa had heard enough of his earlier tirade.

"Gregor Ayala." Pole answered.

Sephiroth who had been silent suddenly stiffened and said, "Hojo's lab assistant. Protégé really. He would know the rudiments of the process."

She looked over at him. The documents that she recovered hadn't said anything about a scientist called Ayala, but Sephiroth appeared very discomfited. There was a story there. She wouldn't prod him to tell her. His traumas always seemed to reveal themselves after he was able to find the words to describe them. She refocused her attention on Pole, "If all you care about is your freedom, then why did you massacre the people of Thrymheim?"

"We're at war. It's either join or die. Don't act so innocent. The PF had been putting the screws to them too."

"I have no idea what you're talking about. Say what you like about us, but whatever we are, you're worse." Tifa murmured. She had to have a long talk with Cloud as soon as she got back to Costa del Sol. There was more to this that she had to know.

Pole laughed at her ignorance, "You don't know do you? Mrs. Strife pushing a trowel, potting her flowers, baking her pies, and cutting ribbons. You don't get any real responsibility at all do you?"

Tifa frowned, "You'd be very mistaken to think that I am any less of a martial artist. I train our people in hand to hand combat." A white lie…besides Janine, she only had a handful of civilians work with her. She really had been shut out, hadn't she?

Pole grinned up at her, "Touched a nerve? Never met your husband. Cloud was obviously after my time with Shinra, but Shinra-trained men are wont to act like their trainers."

She slapped him before she could restrain her reaction. Pole's head rocked where he lay tied up in the dirt, "Don't you dare."

"Don't you dare." He mimicked, his smile had grown wider, "You're only so upset because you know that I'm not lying."

"Tifa, take a walk. Cool off. You're still not in top form. I will find out who the traitors are in the PF." Sephiroth touched her arm.

She was ready to protest, but he was right. She walked a short distance away and watched them speak. Pole had grown more somber. Sephiroth really could make himself terrifying. No, that wasn't it. He knew what it was to command. He might have been that much better at it if Shinra hadn't tortured him. She stared off into the foothills and let ten minutes pass while she ran through a series of breathing exercises. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. When her body stilled, she hadn't been aware of it shaking. She opened her eyes and found Sephiroth standing before her.

He seemed concerned, "There are more names. I will tell you the other that I knew as well. There'll be no more conditions with me either. Abbott Curdie. Nina Grotsky. James Vernor. There were some infantrymen too that he didn't know. Curdie was the one who organized the prison assault. The documents that I recovered have some of their plans. It's coded in a simple Shinra cipher. I can easily translate it for you."

Tifa sighed, "Curdie's one of Cloud's closest friends. The others have small positions of command in our different bases. This is really bad. I don't know why any of them would betray us. You look like you want to say something."

"Perhaps an issue of respect. Cloud was never trained in the art of leadership."

She frowned, "He led us just fine."

"I can see that this is an emotional area for you," Sephiroth offered, "I apologize, but you need to examine your husband's style of command closely."

"I know he's not perfect," Tifa said, "But he really tries. Damn it. We'd be nowhere without him."

Sephiroth nodded, "I understand." He cleared his throat and gestured back over to Pole, "I think that he's told us all that he could. The rest that we need to know is in the documents that we recovered."

"One more thing," Tifa replied. They returned to the bound man. She stared down at him, "How did you know me? There's no TV or anything out here. You shouldn't have known my face."

"God, how dumb are you? You're his goddamn wife. We have pictures of everyone who's somebody in your outfit. Hell, part of the assault on Costa del Sol was to kidnap you or take you out if you couldn't be used. I see someone fucked that up."

The attack on her house flashed through her mind. That Curdie or any of the other traitors would go so far as to see her dead to achieve their objectives startled her. Again, she had to speak with Cloud urgently. She refused to let Pole get another rise out of her. Tifa fixed her features into an impassive expression, "We're done here."

"Good. Now release me like you agreed."

She knelt done to undo Sephiroth's knots when her companion grabbed her. He shook his head, "Allow me. I said that I'd let you leave here. Alive is all that I promise, but I won't let you leave intact."

Pole's eyes widened, "You p-p-promised." He stammered.

"I promised you nothing but your life and not to turn you over to Wutai, but I will never forget what you did to those women in Shan. Why should I let you go to violate another woman? Shall we take that capability from you?"

That was some rough justice. Tifa couldn't say that she quite agreed, but having likely escaped a similar fate at Pole's hands, she offered no protest. Sephiroth dragged him screaming behind another hill. She tried to deafen herself to the horrible wet cries. Knowing what she did about him, she couldn't say that she was surprised that this was his soft spot. He had killed thousands on command, but Sephiroth knew the horror of what had been done to him too intimately in Hojo's lab to let another walk free for an altogether different but similar offense.

Everyone had their limits.

When he returned, his hands were bloody, and she didn't say anything. They packed up the camp in silence, and Tifa extinguished the nearly dead fire. She was pleased with what Sephiroth had recovered from Thrymheim. The supply run hadn't been a bust after all, which was good as they were starting to get low on ration bars.

She led them ten miles south, and to her surprise, they encountered neither man nor monster. They walked along the river again, which was a welcome site as the air grew drier and hotter. Tifa took off her jacket at one point and tied it across her waist. Grass became barren earth, which bled eventually into sand. The desert had spread much further out from the Gold Saucer. As dusk fell and became nightfall, the air chilled again, the temperature dropping dangerously low. They found a hidden area near the mountains to make camp. Sephiroth had a difficult time finding kindling to make a fire. Tifa could retrieve only a few sparse logs from the handful of long dead trees that hadn't decayed into dust.

They huddled closely. It meant nothing, she reassured herself. This was an exchange of body heat and nothing more. Still it felt like a betrayal to be pressed up against another man as closely as she was to Sephiroth. He stared into the fire, lost in thought.

"What are you thinking about," Tifa inquired.

"Lucrecia."

That didn't surprise her, "Look, I don't know what you're expecting, but she can't talk. I don't know how to describe it, but she's practically in a coma."

"I might be able to reach her," Sephiroth murmured.

"How?" Tifa quirked a brow.

"It's hard to explain. Those of us with Jenova's cells have always been able to commune. There's a sense for it."

That unsettled her. Did that mean that the creature was alive still? Could it steer Sephiroth's actions again? She weakly offered a muted, "Ah."

"Don't be alarmed," Sephiroth said, "I haven't been able to feel her since my revival. I think that all that remains of her are the cells adapted to her subjects' bodies. And I am hardly in the same place that I was to want to absorb the lifestream." He laughed sadly, "It would be nice to have a book."

"You like to read?" Tifa pushed the conversation elsewhere. As much as she knew about him, she knew nothing about his hobbies.

"Can't get enough of it."

Tifa laughed, "Bit of a nerd aren't you. Me, I always hated reading. Probably why I took to the martial arts so. There was always music too. Used to play the piano."

Sephiroth seemed none too bother by her quip, "It was all that I had. It would have been nice to cultivate some other skills like music." He sighed then, "It's hard to imagine a life after this. SOLDIER was all that I knew, and now…with what I've done, where can I go?"

She didn't know, but it just wasn't in her nature to watch other people hurt, "I'll vouch for you. I can't promise much, but what you've done for us stands out." She shifted the subject, watching the fire crackle, "I owe you a story. You deserve to know more about me, with me knowing so much about you." Her eyes grew unfocused as she began to tell him about those first dark days in Midgar. She was a teenage girl with no money or prospects, but she had enough hatred and meanness in her now to make it in this dog eat dog world.

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A/N: Hello, lovelies. Thank you for the reviews. I am glad that you are enjoying the story. The next chapter will come out soon.


	16. Entr'acte

Oblivion

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Entr'acte

Thirst. Pain. Hunger. Loss. Anger. When Tifa regained consciousness on her first day in Midgar, she sprung upright in the bed where she'd lain and screamed. An older woman rushed into the room and tried to coax her into relaxation, "You only just came to. You'll reopen your wounds if you keep thrashing."

She couldn't stop. Her chest felt like it had been split with fire that was still burning. Her head throbbed, her throat hurt, and she could still taste the dried metallic tang of blood on her teeth. However, none of these physical ills could even begin to compare with the fresh horror and anguish that still stood out so vividly in her memories. More perfect than any film, scenes flickered by and grew no dimmer.

"You have to relax," beyond her vision, the woman fiddled with the intravenous feed attached to her wrist.

"Where?" Tifa whispered. It was so sudden. All of the energy flowed out of her as something else ebbed within, and she fell backwards into the sweat-stained sheets.

(Tifa pulled Sephiroth's blade, the wickedly long Masamune, from her dead father's back. A plume of viscera spilled forth, and as she struggled against the sword's weight, tears blurred her vision).

She tried to lift her arms but found they would not respond. She parted her cracked lips to speak, "Where…am…I?"

The woman knelt over her, taking a cloth to dab her face, "Safe. In Midgar. Name's Jun Noh." Tifa took in the long ebony braid of hair flecked with gray that spilled over her shoulder. She had tawny skin and dark almond-shaped eyes. The doubtless beauty that Jun possessed in her youth had grown into a finely wrinkled, high-cheeked elegance. Her hands were iron vices that moved with a steady, disciplined speed as she checked over Tifa's injuries, "I am a friend of Zangan's."

"Doctor?" Whatever Jun had given her reduced Tifa to only a few words, "…how long?"

Jun shook her head, "Not a doctor. I'm a medic…from Wutai. I'm trusting you to keep that a secret. It's been several weeks since you were brought here."

That long? Tifa's mind reeled. What had become of the village?

Her caretaker offered her as warm a smile as she could muster, which still left Tifa feeling hollow, "Zangan promised to return within a month to get you. His entry didn't go unnoticed, and he had to leave again. As such a well-known warrior and an émigré from my homeland, Shinra would want to silence anything he might say, but you, dearie, you're safe. No one knows you. So, rest. Get your strength back."

Tifa let the darkness of sleep fall over her, and though her body grew stronger, healthier, and firmer as the hours extended into days and those into weeks, she had no rest. Anyone else might have fallen into listless depression.

(She tore up the mountainside angrily, finding another way with the first path that they'd taken destroyed. She walked through the night, paying no mind to the risk of monsters, caring little that she didn't have materia or even knew how to use it, and least of all recognizing that Sephiroth hopelessly outclassed her. She would kill him).

But, Tifa's soul had been forged from fire. She was on her feet by the end of her second conscious week. Jun had cut away her cowgirl ensemble when she arrived in need of treatment. The rags were gone — thrown away.

Good.

Tifa wanted nothing to remind her of that terrible day. Jun had been generous enough to offer her some new things, a plain blouse and simple trousers. A wad of bandages sat against Tifa's ribs as she leaned against the exterior wall of Jun's balcony. By Gaia, did she hate this city with its stench of sick, sewage, and mako. Mako. Mako. Mako. The acrid tang was so thick that you could practically drink it from the air. It tasted how fresh cut grass smelt but only if you doused it in the most strongly concentrated bleach first. The odor hung around inside your house, staying with you for every shower, every meal, and every last minute you had until you closed your eyes to sleep. Tifa leaned on the railing. It was as dark as night with only streetlamps to illuminate the city, but she knew that it was barely ten past noon.

Jun had crept up behind her at one point and nearly scared Tifa out of her skin when she spoke, "You shouldn't be out here. Bad air."

Tifa sighed, "If I sit too long, I can't stop thinking." She gestured out to the cityscape, "Is it always like this?"

"Like what?" Jun asked.

"So dark. I don't know how anyone can stand it."

Jun shrugged, "You get used to it, but the locals down here have never seen the sun."

How grim, Tifa thought with a shiver.

After another week passed, Jun helped her unravel the last set of bandages that she'd have. Her caretaker may have removed the mirrors from the room, but she knew as she traced the scar that it was a grisly sight to behold. A raised white callus of flesh ran from her right collarbone, between both breasts, ending right above her left hipbone. There were dips or grooves where the bone itself had been chipped away from the force of Sephiroth's blow. She learned too that Nibelheim's butcher had taken something else from her after an internal examination.

Tifa held onto the older, taller woman as she shook. She hadn't thought that far…couldn't possibly have fathomed it now, but the choice wasn't even there anymore.

"Tifa, you are no less of a woman," Jun murmured into the girl's hair.

It wasn't that she couldn't conceive or have monthly menstrual cycles, it was that any pregnancy would surely kill her if it lasted beyond the first trimester. What was left of her uterus was a mess of scar tissue. Her most hated enemy really had robbed her of everything.

Two more weeks passed. Stir-crazy, Tifa began to explore the area outside of Jun's house.

"You don't have to rush it. You still look unsure," Jun said from across the room. The older woman discarded a pair of bloody latex gloves into a bin labelled medical waste. She had been tending to another client who now lay recovering.

Tifa shook her head, "If I stay here. I'll only be in the way. Can't stay cooped up forever. I won't go far. You don't have to worry. Once I explore a place, I know it forever."

"Kids," Jun snorted as Tifa who seemingly made up her mind finally exited the house.

Everywhere beneath Midgar's plates seemed to be a junkyard. You had to learn to look at it properly. She eventually recognized houses in abandoned industrial sites or as clapped together boards of wood and scrap metal. It seemed that Shinra never refurbished its old businesses…just built upwards, and once it moved on to the next project, it retired old employees like it retired those buildings. If you didn't have a transferrable skillset, then best of luck to you.

Tifa wandered from one alley to the next. The streets were miserably thick with people. She'd never heard so many languages spoken or seen so many different kinds of people. In a sort of innocent ignorance, she hadn't realized really either that anyone spoke anything else besides her tongue. Yet, everyone shared the same desperation and poverty that drove life beneath the sky pizza, as the locals called it. Every couple of feet that she walked, someone was hawking something and sometimes…someone.

Jun had told her once, "Nothing's really legal about these side businesses, but hustling's a way of life down here. You get used to it. It makes it the easiest place to hide."

Tifa couldn't help but ask, "Why do you need to hide, Jun?"

She never got an answer, only receiving a far-off look. She didn't ask again.

Every time she came back to Jun's house from one of her explorations of the city, she expected to see Zangan. The weeks that he'd been missing quickly became months. It was in the middle of December when she stopped asking Jun if she'd heard from her master. They didn't say it, but in all likelihood, he was dead or worse. Jun had been too generous to ask Tifa to leave, but the signs of strain were there. Sometimes, she'd receive a harsh rebuke about a scrap of meat that she might have eaten or an agitated stare when she frayed a sleeve. Tifa knew that she brought in nothing and was an added liability for whatever Jun did beyond being a "medic from Wutai." Though her circumstances were better than some, Jun was still poor. Tifa would spare her savior the awkwardness of having to ask her to leave.

Tifa packed up her meager belongings one night while the woman was out and disappeared without a word. It was better that way. She traversed the ruin of Midgar's slums to settle into Sector Seven. She hated the way the neighborhoods were named. Everything felt so impersonal.

She had neither gil nor the means for making any. Tifa had barely begun high school that year and knew next to nothing about city life and city work. On the kindness of a tavern owner, she begged her way into a waitressing job.

"How old are you, kid?" Sal asked, he was thin, pale, and rough-faced.

"Eighteen," Tifa lied. She'd been circling this place for a few days and asking people about it. It was called the Seventh Heaven…interesting a name for so uninteresting a dump. The floorboards were eaten through, revealing holes that showed the cellar. The thin insipid beer looked very much like an ill-concocted homebrew, and the food seemed as appetizing as fried sewer rat. She didn't care. She needed this job. She had already passed several nights sleeping on park benches, fending off all sorts of lechers that roamed the night. She'd eaten enough garbage and half-finished meals to last her a lifetime.

"Bullshit," Sal said with a laugh, "Look at you, barely taller than this bar counter."

Tifa's face hardened, "Okay, so I'm not eighteen, but I can cook, clean, and wait on tables. That's all you need, right?"

"Well look who's got a fire up her little bony ass. Well, kid. I guess I can give you a shot, but might have to fire you by the end of the week."

She shrugged…a week's pay was better than nothing. It was always the same threat with him. "Might have to fire you by the end of the week," but by the start of the new year, she found herself set up with a little room in a boarding house not too far away. On her sixteenth birthday that May, the trouble began.

Tifa had blossomed into a new comely womanhood. The babyish roundness of her face elongated into shapely, soft beauty. Her hair, which hadn't been properly trimmed in nearly a year, now fell to her waist, and her figure had grown into a lithe hourglass shape that drew stares from the customers. Tifa knew how she looked, and rather than making her vain, her appearance made her shy and uncomfortable.

"Hey, sweetness, give us a smile," one customer whooped when she served them their drinks.

Be professional. Focus on the tip, Tifa drilled herself. It took all of her effort to rein in the cool stare that she wanted to toss the man. She answered him evenly, "Here are your drinks. Three whiskeys and two lagers." They came here often, seeming to splurge particularly on Fridays. They dressed alike, wearing spiked leather jackets that were emblazoned with a series of colored patches. She hadn't the foggiest what they meant. She sighed, "Anything else I can do for you?"

"Yeah," the man who'd spoken previously began. Tifa studied him singularly. He wore his reddish hair in a buzz cut. His features were hard and ugly. He reached out and grabbed her suddenly, "You can take a seat right here." He gestured toward his lap, "Might feel something you like, baby."

Tifa wrenched her arm away, "Get off!"

His overly large brow furrowed, "You're going to shame Ol' Vick in front of his boys? How about I teach you a lesson."

Tifa caught a glimpse of Sal who seemed to being doing his best of impression of obliviousness from behind the counter. Her eyes silently pled with him, asking to intervene. He wouldn't meet her eyes. In the few seconds the followed that exchange, Vick stood from the table, balling his hand into a fist. Tifa's eyes narrowed. She didn't need to be saved.

Vick towered over her. Damn. His height hadn't been so apparent with him seated at the table. So, that was an advantage for him. She sized him up. He was drunk and seemed more set on scaring her though he obviously intended to hurt her too. If she could…Tifa fell into a crouch and swept his legs from underneath him. She launched herself on top on him, punching frenziedly, erratically. Without gloves, her knuckles split and bled, intermingling with that of her opponent whose mouth was a mess of teeth and blood.

"Get that bitch!" one of his friends shouted after they'd all seemingly recovered from their amazement.

They were sloppy. She dodged their lunges. She smashed a plate into one's face, kneed another in his crouch, and jammed a shard of glass into the last's eye. The last one fell to the ground with a shriek, clutching the wicked wound, "I'll kill you…kill you, you fucking bitch."

"Oh shit! Someone grab Milo. Get Vick up on his feet. Do you have a potion?" Another of the group spat frantically. They pulled up their two fallen companions and retreated for the door, leaving behind blood, hair, and teeth. The one who'd asked about potions fixed Tifa with the nastiest glare, "I remember a face when I see it. You were wrong to fuck with us. We'll make sure that you regret it."

Tifa said nothing, only leaned against the flipped table from where she sat on the floor. She massaged her aching hands. All of the adrenaline had left her. She panted and then turned her anger to Sal, "What in the actual fuck was that? Were you going to stand there and let them beat and rape me?"

Having at last found his voice, Sal replied, "Do you have any idea the heat that you just brought down on me? Pack your shit and leave. You're done here. Those were the Sector Seven Kings."

She returned him a blank stare. She couldn't believe what she was hearing. She'd worked tirelessly here for the last half of a year. She scrubbed vomit stains nightly from the floorboards and mopped up piss puddles. She worked from morning to closing. She pushed herself to her feet, "You can't do this."

"Did I stutter? I've seen the Kings kill for less. Didn't you see the tattoos?"

She had noticed that they all seemed to have some variation of either a crown or the letters "S7K" on their arms. Vick wore his on his forehead.

"That Vick was a general of theirs, and you beat him unconscious. If he walked in here and asked me to blow him, I'd ask him balls or shaft first. You're a dead woman, and I don't need you taking me with you. Get out."

Well, when he put it that way…

Tifa found herself in her room an hour later. Her bravado had wilted, and she hugged her knees to her chest as she sat on the mattress that was her bed, leaning against a wall. Her hands had swelled into ugly purple lumps. Sal hadn't paid her for that week, and what he did pay her barely paid the fees for her room. In her savings, she'd only managed to scrounge up maybe five hundred gil.

She could always move, she mused. But where? Sector Five? How long would it be until she encountered the same shit from another street gang? She fell onto her side, closing her eyes. A neighbor kept making a thumping sound through the wall. Somewhere a siren wailed in the city. Classic Midgar. There was never a moment's rest to think.

"I'll make it. If Sephiroth couldn't kill me, then this won't either," Tifa whispered to herself.

The next day, she took a hundred gil out of her tin can and bought a proper pair of fighting gauntlets. They were brown leather with embedded metal knuckles beneath the fabric that'd protect her own hands. Perfect. She spent the next month training on the rooftop of her building in relative peace, reviewing what Zangan had taught her. Her education felt suspiciously incomplete, but it was what she had. Tifa did odd jobs for people in the neighborhood. It kept her from homelessness and hunger, but that was it.

One August night on the rooftop, Tifa paused in her training sequences to catch her breath. She reclined against the rough concrete and took a drink from her water bottle. Midgar was perpetually hot and sticky beneath the plates. The late summer heat only amplified it. The tank top she wore clung to her skin. Tifa pulled her hair into a high messy bun to get it off of her neck. She stared out into the cityscape. Six stories up, the glittering lights and street fires of the slums almost seemed pretty. Steam billowed up from sites of industry and went nowhere. Always night — that she could never get used to.

Tifa wrung the sweat from her shirt and pushed herself to stand before her thoughts could distract her too much. She daren't think too far into the future. Just then, the door opened behind her. She turned startled. No one ever came up here.

In their leathers, the Sector Seven Kings stood in front of her. She counted quickly. Nine…ten…eleven. One swung a chain, another, brandished a mean-looking toothed knife. She recognized Vick immediately situated directly in the lead, his auburn hair having grown out since their encounter in the bar. The giant smirked and crackled his knuckles, "My boy told you that we'd pay you back, bitch."

Another of the gang members step forward, "Vick, don't lose your head. Remember what the boss said. No real injuries. Just grab her."

"Fuck what the boss said. Who leads us in the streets? Give me that goddamn knife!"

Tifa said nothing, backing away. The odds weren't good. Well, they were pretty awful truth be told. A cold sweat formed on her spine. Breathe. She balled her hands into fists and pulled her legs into a lunge. They sprung for her. She flipped beneath the man swinging the chain, using the momentum to seize it from him. She struck another gang member in the face, this one unarmed before dropping the chain. He went down immediately, clutching his mouth. She'd taken out some teeth there. A hand reached out for her leg, and she danced away. She couldn't let herself get cornered. It was equally dangerous to give them too much distance, too much of a chance to settle on some sort of formation.

She was a flurry of kicks, somersaults, punches, and clever footwork, but it wasn't enough. Though their form was undisciplined, they had her by endurance and raw power through their sheer numbers. Vick's knife found its way into her left thigh during an unguarded moment while she was attempting to block a jab at her face. Tifa let out a yelp and dropped momentarily, limping away as her leg wept blood.

"Ah, ah, ah bitch," Vick said, following her with a finger wag. He grabbed the knife and wrenched it to the side. She fell like a stone with a scream that tore through the air and above all of the other noises of the Midgar streets. They fell in on her at once, kicking and punching. She did her best to fend off blows to her face, which wasn't much. One of the men grabbed her right hand while another stomped on it. She felt the fragile bones shatter.

Vick knelt now, whispering into her ear, "How about we make that pretty face prettier." He dragged the blade across the flesh of her cheek with a promise of greater pressure, drawing her tears. He chuckled, "Not so fucking high and mighty now, are we?"

The men had drawn back, but one still stood forward. She couldn't make him out, only heard him speak, "Vick that's enough. Really, man. The boss will end you if you fuck her up more."

Vick hissed through his nostrils and murmured some profanities under his breath. He seemed to consider disobeying whoever his boss had been for a few moments before he seemed to think better of it. He put the knife away and seized a handful of her hair with one of his massive hands. Tifa took every ounce of hate that she could muster into one last act of defiance, inhaled deeply, and spat a huge gob of saliva directly at his face. He grimace and slammed her head down onto the pavement.

(Fragments. After Sephiroth struck her down, she could only recall a few moments between the long periods of blackness. She saw Zack's face, his glowing azure eyes and raven hair as he leaned over her…she might have dreamt Cloud. Then, she saw her gray-haired teacher Zangan who seemed pale and strained. Mmm…cure. Such a warm spell. It filled her with light. Someone hoisted her onto to something bumpy? Chocobo? Truck? Then, there was nothing.)

When Tifa woke up, she found that she lie on a tile floor in an empty room. Someone had healed her…badly. Her right hand, though no longer broken, throbbed and was swollen. Her fingers took on a sickish purple hue. She could barely flex the hand let alone form a fist. Where Vick had stabbed her, Tifa only observed torn fabric and a faint, reddish scar. Her breath was shaky, shallow, and painful. Perhaps her ribs were bruised. In this state, escape was not an option.

The room where they'd dumped her was lavishly decorated…perhaps the nicest place she'd yet been in her short life, and she couldn't fathom that they were still in the slums. It had the look of an office. A desk of fine dark wood with a white marble surface stood in the middle of the room. There was a luxurious chaise with a deep scarlet cushion and gold trimming in another corner. A whole array of crystal and figurines from elsewhere adorned the shelves that bordered the room, and there were books upon books. She marveled at the high ceilings. That was then when Tifa noticed the window. Light, not a street lamp or someone else's fluorescent bulb, but real, honest light streamed through it. She gasped, limped closer to the window and placed her good hand against the glass. So warm. The breathtaking splendor of the sun was almost enough to make her forget that she'd been beaten within in an inch of her life and carried off her boarding house roof.

A low laugh caught her ear, and she turned quite startled. Her eyes fell on an older man with neatly cut and styled white hair who stood near the door. He seemed to live the sort of well-manicured and rich lifestyle that made the age of certain older men undeterminable. He could have been forty or sixty years old. Tifa couldn't tell. He wore a black tailored suit with pearl buttons and a golden pin that accentuated his slim frame and advertised power. Everything about him said, "Look at me, but don't dare defy me." She was certain that this must have been the boss that Vick's goons had been mentioning with such puppy-dog deference.

The man paced further into the room, seemingly perfectly unafraid and almost perhaps bored as he looked over Tifa. He seemed to frown and then his lips pulled into a very slight smile, "So you're the girl that killed Milo and beat Vick bloody. Hmmm, you don't look like much. But, you've become something of a celebrity beneath the plates."

So, she was above the plates? How? But, more importantly…she…she had killed someone? Tifa's guts churned, and she thought that she might be sick. She stammered, "I d-d-didn't kill anyone."

"Ah. But, you did." The older man drawled, "And, that's where we have the problem. You stabbed a certain low-level associate of mine in the eye. He died from the injury." He stated this as if he were ordering lunch, and the whole affair tired him. Yet, with his dark gaze focused on Tifa, his eyes seemed to be saying, "Ah, I've found something interesting at last."

He pulled a high, cushioned swivel chair from behind his desk and sat. The man gestured at the chair on the opposite side of the desk, motioning for Tifa to sit. She hadn't wanted to, but her legs moved mechanically. Her mind reeled over the implications of having killed. She flexed both hands, even the swollen one, and looked at them as if they belonged to someone else as she plopped down into the chair. She said nothing, only looked at her knees.

The man spoke, "What is that accent I'm hearing? Western continent? There's a Corelian sound to it. Where are you from, girl? Who are you?"

Corel? She knew it to be the mining town a good distance east of Nibelheim. If she'd paid attention to nothing in the one-room house that had passed as her town's school, then she certainly knew her geography. She licked her lips and said nothing.

"When I ask you a question, girl. You answer. My men say that your name is Tifa. They learned it from your old employer. What an unusual name."

She blanched, dreading whatever the Sector Seven Kings might have done to Sal. When she at last answered him, Tifa's voice sounded as if it belonged to someone else. She was miles away, replaying the whole bar fight in her head, "From Muspelheim, Sir."

"Tifa," he replied evenly. She met his eyes then. The black orbs had taken on a dangerous gleam, "Muspelheim was destroyed in a mudslide seven years ago when Shinra first constructed the Nibel Reactor. Don't take me for a fucking idiot. I hate liars, Tifa. Do you understand?"

She nodded, gulping.

"Good, then let's try this again."

"From Nibelheim, Sir. Just arrived here late last year."

The man smiled broadly, his eyes glinting like obsidian, "A survivor? And you're skilled in Wutaian style hand-to-hand." He drummed his fingers across his desk and seemed to be thinking half a dozen things. He sized her up the same way a Nibel wolf might when it had you cornered on a trail, "Well, Tifa, I have a proposal for you. And, please do call me "Korol." He said it like kuh-rel. She wasn't sure if it was a last name or a first. He continued, "Sir" makes me feel so much older than I am. But that's beside the point. You owe me, and I might be your benefactor."

"Benefactor?" Tifa questioned.

"Your guide and employer to life in Midgar. You're obviously still green here, and it takes someone with a little savoir-faire to survive below _or_ above the plates."

Tifa frowned, "You beat me. The Sector Seven Kings assaulted me. I—"

"You," Korol interrupted her, "Have so little choice in the matter that it's almost a laugh to have this conversation with you. This is how things are going to be. You'll either agree to be a part of my organization, or I'll have you dragged out of here, order one of my men to beat your head in, and toss you into the middle of the street where everyone who thought they might have the stones to stand up to the Kings will see whatever is left of you rot."

A shiver ran through Tifa's body. This or death? She gripped the edges of her chair, and something shriveled in her. She never thought that she might be in this sort of situation. It seemed like something she might have watched at home on her old black and white TV when she was a kid. She thought about Zangan who used to talk so much about pride in one's skill to live righteously. So much for pride. She chose life, "I'll join you…but, Si- ah, I mean Korol, how did you know about Nibelheim?"

He offered her a smile that showed dazzlingly white teeth, but the eyes remained shrewd and predatory, "How very good of you to join the family. Tifa, here's your first lesson. So, pay attention. _Information_ is power…not fists, guns, or materia. A man lives and dies by what's up here." Korol pointed at his temple. He directed his attention to a panel on his desk and raised the lid, revealing a series of buttons. He pushed one, which activated an intercom, "Cora, please escort Miss Tifa to the garage."

A sharply dressed woman entered the room. This must have been Cora. She was startlingly beautiful with olive-colored skin and a wave of indigo black curls that were pulled into a complicated up-do of braids and pins. Tifa's injuries didn't faze her. Cora led the teenager with a gentle brush on the arm to a garage and a driver standing by a new but nondescript sedan.

"Xavier will take you back to Sector Seven." Cora said. She sounded like the sort of woman who'd voice over commercials selling perfume or the most cutting edge gadget on the market. In other circumstances, Tifa might have envied such a voice, but the girl was too dazed to care really. After months of careful hiding, forming no friendships…she'd been found out. I killed someone, she thought. She leaned against the leather seat, letting her head fall against the headrest and stared upwards at the velvety ceiling. She saw the sun fully now. Even above the plate, smog marred the view, but it was still so beautiful after so many months of night.

The sedan picked up speed as they merged onto a highway. They curved onto a bridge that seemed to spiral lower and lower. Tifa thought that they'd entered a tunnel until she realized that they'd passed the massive plates that held the city above the slums. The air grew worse as the whirring sound of the ventilation systems from above faded. She coughed.

Looking out of the window, Tifa saw that they drove to an area where she hadn't been. It didn't look quite as bad as the rest of the slums. Xavier pulled into an alley and instructed her to get into a car that seemed to be waiting on them. It was smaller and a bit rustier…something that seemed more likely to be on this side of the plate. He gave a wave as he drove back into that other world.

Tifa said nothing to the new driver, only watched as they drove deeper into Sector Seven. Children clustered around a water truck with barrels, exchanging fistfuls of gil and filling their barrels to take home to their families. She spotted a noodle shop that she'd visit whenever she had enough money to afford something other than potatoes and pre-packaged crap. There was the bazaar.

 _I_ _killed someone_. She exhaled and rubbed her good hand against her aching chest. A new thought occurred to her. As a part of the Sector Seven Kings, she'd likely do worse. They pulled into a car lot.

The driver turned to her, "This is your stop, kid. Have fun with the initiation."

She exited, her stomach falling to her feet. She walked into the garage. One man pried the license plate off of a car that was obviously too nice for this area. Another worked on or reshaped something with a blow torch. The whole room smelt like burning rubber and wires.

A man in a ripped tee whistled and pulled back his mask, "Look what we have here. Are you the girl?"

She nodded, mumbling, "Yeah, I'm Tifa."

"Name's Jones. Follow me." Like Vick, he was massive, standing well over six feet.

She followed him into a dark room where a woman who was all skin, bones, and roughness addressed them, "Who's the kid?" Tifa hadn't seen another woman in the gang yet, but that provided little comfort. She hadn't looked up at either of them. She was drawing an elaborate sketch of skulls and roses on an inkpad.

"Cindi," Jones said, "This is Tifa. The one who fucked up Vick's face and killed Milo. She's one of us now."

"Hot damn," Cindi said with a snort, "You're the girl? You're fucking tiny. You're the one who beat the snot out of Vick? My girl." She whooped. She set down her pen, running a hand through her magenta bob before offering Tifa a hand.

Unsure of what to do, Tifa shook her hand and shuffled her feet.

"The kid needs the colors. The boss wants her inked today. I'll leave her to you." He turned on his heel and left for the garage.

"What's with you, kid? Cat got your tongue? Didn't peg you for a shy one. Come on and sit down," Cindi pointed to a frayed red leather chair.

Tifa limped over and sat, "Sorry." She wasn't sure why she apologized.

"Look at you, girl," Cindi murmured, "You look like you've been through it today."

Tifa laughed. _Total understatement_. She then begin to cry softly, "All this because I wouldn't sit in his lap?" She hiccupped.

Cindi sighed and patted her arm, "Sorry, kid. Life's rough here. Vick's an asshole, and I'd avoid him. He won't try anything around you so long as the boss thinks you're somethin' special."

Tifa wiped at her eyes, "I don't know what I'm doing. Things are so fucked up right now."

"I know, I know." Cindi replied, "Look, I don't know you, and you don't know me, but you're making waves. That Wutaian street fighting you did a month ago is your ticket. Focus on making Korol happy, and you'll make a name for yourself."

Tifa hadn't wanted to make a name for herself. She wanted to close her eyes and wake up in her old bed. She wanted to see her father again. She wanted…

"Now let's pick a spot. You need to be tattooed."

"What?" Tifa said suddenly.

"Everyone gets one. Best to make it your own"

She thought it over. She didn't want Cindi or anyone else to see her ugly scar. She slid down her pants slightly and pointed at her upper right thigh, "Here. Here is fine."

"How do you want it then? Most people get some kind of jumble of "S7K" or a crown."

Tifa shook her head, "If you have to give me something, then give me a tiara."

Cindi smiled, "A _queen_ instead of a king? Ballsy. I like it."

Tifa hissed when the needle entered her flesh. Cindi dabbed at small beads of blood every few seconds as she worked. Without much direction from the teenager, Cindi made her own embellishments, settling on a large jewel in the center with looping spirals of what Tifa supposed were diamonds branching off of it. The pain dimmed after the first initial shock, and Tifa was as pleased as she could be after such a day with the results.

"You're very talented, Cindi." Tifa offered.

Cindi grinned, "You're sweet, kid. Just take it one step at a time. You'll make it."

* * *

In the present, an older Tifa pulled down her pants slightly without any shame to show Sephiroth the tattoo. The years hadn't faded the ink in the slightest. Once she'd begun to tell the story. She couldn't stop. The woman couldn't say how many hours had passed. She only knew that it was late, and that their usual routine had been thrown off entirely. Tifa laughed, "You know, I should've hated everything about my time with the Kings. There were a lot of awful things that I had to do that I don't like talking about…hurting people…sometimes worse, but it wasn't all terrible. At times, it felt like I had a family again. This next part of the story is where things get hard. It's about how I found Barret…one of my friends that helped me stop you. He really saved me from becoming someone I wouldn't recognize or respect. Mmm, it's so late." She yawned, "Let's leave that part of the story for another day."

Sephiroth nodded, "Tifa. Thank you for trusting me enough to share this with me. I'd like to hear the rest of it when you…feel ready to tell it."

Tifa couldn't help but smile at him. He was surprisingly thoughtful. She dusted off her pants and stood, "I'll take first watch tonight. Don't give me that look. Fair's fair."

* * *

A/N: And, now we find ourselves in the middle of the story. When I started this story, I knew that I wanted to focus exclusively on Sephiroth's and Tifa's points of view, but I toyed with the idea of writing a chapter from the perspective of the omniscient narrator to drop in on Cloud, but I decided against it. It'll make the moment that either of the two run into Cloud that much more surprising when it happens. This interlude or entr'acte in the main storyline lets me stab at Tifa's backstory.

One of the things that I dislike about the original FFVII is how badly mangled the other characters' backstories besides Cloud's are. Tifa lived several years in Midgar before meeting Cloud again. You don't know anything about that time other than Zangan left her somewhere to get treated, and she eventually joins up with Barret and Avalanche. It's not outside of the range of possibility that Tifa might join a street gang when she willingly joined a gang of eco-terrorists, especially if her back was against a wall. Most of FFVII addresses who Tifa is through her relationship to Cloud. It never really touches on the anger or hate that she felt besides that scene where she professes to hate Shinra and SOLDIER after Sephiroth attacks Nibelheim. I was most interested in how Tifa would deal with living in a shantytown practically with little formal education or money. Another draft of this chapter had her joining an underground fight club to further hone her skills, but that felt like too much of a stretch. While Tifa's character is traditionally girly and somewhat shy, I thought that Square put her into too much of a box. I've been so keen on using her martial arts skills and overall physicality to subvert traditional gender roles in this story without altering her character too much. The next few chapters will focus on the main story, but we'll be visiting this one again soon enough.


	17. Chapter 16

Oblivion

Chapter 16

* * *

 _One more day until we reach Lucrecia…_ Tifa's pronouncement reverberated in his head as they walked. Sephiroth had had a lot of time to think about what he would say when he saw her, but nothing seemed quite sufficient. No introductions he'd thought over would suffice, and none of his questions were right. They'd passed through another dead zone the day before, which made him ponder, not for the first time, if she'd even want to see him. He remembered her diary and "visions of darkness." He'd fulfilled nearly every grim prophecy that she foretold.

"You're frowning. What's up?" Tifa inquired after a glance over her shoulder. She walked ahead of him, leading him up a path that he'd learned she surveyed several years ago.

He shook his head, "Just thinking."

"Tch," she snorted, "I know the brooding face when I see it. Vincent and Barret, two of my best friends, are practically professionals at it. I won't press you though."

Have a little trust. A wave of guilt assailed him. That seemed to happen more frequently lately. The more he learned about Tifa, the more incredible he found it that she'd shared the documents with him concerning his true origins at all. She owed him less than nothing. Sephiroth sighed audibly.

Tifa stopped in her gait, turning her whole body, "Okay. Let's take a water break."

He quirked a brow, "This is unusual for you."

"I aim to surprise." She quipped with a smirk. She unzipped her black PF jacket and tied it around her waist, wearing only a tan tank top underneath, which was in much need of washing, and the uniform's pants. Sephiroth followed suit, wearing only the simple tee beneath his jacket. It was unusually balmy, and he'd never been a fan of such restrictive clothing.

"So," Sephiroth drawled, "I can't help but notice that you're not drinking any water."

"Winner, winner, chicken dinner."

"What?"

Tifa laughed, "Sorry. Some nonsense I heard at the Gold Saucer when it was still an amusement park. I mean to say that you're right. Look, you seem upset, and I just want to check in."

He trusted her. So, he might as well just say it. Sephiroth rubbed his neck, "What if Lu…my mother doesn't want to see me? What then?"

Tifa seemed to think for a moment before folding her arms around herself, "I think that she'd want to see you. You read her diaries. If anything, she blames herself for all of the things that you did." She appeared in conflict with herself before Tifa spoke again with some difficulty, "…I think…that she does deserve some of that blame."

His eyes caught hers. Sephiroth pressed his lips into a thin line and exhaled sharply. His shoulders tightened, "What I did is my burden and mine alone. I willingly fed into Jenova's deceptions."

Tifa walked nearer to him, studied his features before she placed both hands on his shoulders. She was so much smaller than him. Her touch was soft but firm. There was the unfamiliar tingle again. She licked her lips…that detestable habit of hers whenever she appeared nervous or agitated or…He couldn't take his eyes off of the rosy full bow of those lips. Her stare was steely and humorless, "Before you came back…when we were excavating what we could from Shinra HQ and we found the documentation on you, I used to ask myself if things would've been different had you only known the full truth. And, then you were alive again. I was horrified of you in the prison, but I needed you to know. I lied to myself when I said that I wasn't trying to absolve you. It took a lot of years, getting through the hurt after the hell of Nibelheim, but part of me never blamed you. I still remember who you were when you entertained a star struck kid with a sparring match on an important mission."

He chuckled to himself, closing his eyes and thought back to that day. So much of that time was a jumble, especially after he'd spent so many of the subsequent years absorbing the memories of the Lifestream. She had been so much different then, pint-sized and rail-thin. His tone was sincere, "I found you tiresome but talented. A refreshing difference from my other brushes with teenaged admirers."

She grinned, "Glad to have left a good impression, but don't change the subject." Tifa donned her serious expression once more, "There are so many other forces that shaped you and put you on that path. I think that Hojo was the greatest to blame, but there was Lucrecia who willingly agreed to human experimentation. No one is entirely innocent here. There are some lines that shouldn't be crossed."

"Indeed. I can't say what I might have done if I'd known more, but I'd like to think that I would have remained who I was…and that your only memory of me would be an afternoon spar in the mountains." Sephiroth said. His eyes fell onto her shoulder, the right one, and he noticed an uneven ridge in her collarbone. A faint scar followed that ridge and disappeared into the neckline of her top. She followed his stare.

"It isn't so bad now. And, I have enough nicks and scrapes that it really doesn't matter anymore."

"But," Sephiroth raised a hand to that collarbone, tracing it with one finger. She shivered under his touch. He frowned, "I did this to you."

Tifa leapt away at once and put on a megawatt smile that seemed purposefully goofy, "I'm not a kid now. It…doesn't make me feel ugly anymore."

That he ever made her feel this way at all deepened his shame. He didn't know how to respond. It'd be hardly appropriate to tell her how beautiful she was or how much she reminded him of the war goddess in Wutai, who'd shone like fiery gold in the dying sunlight. And, it certainly wouldn't have done to let slip that the very sight of her stirred things in him that he once half-revolted — how he wanted to lift her up into his arms and crush his lips against hers. Her capacity for mercy, bravery, and singlemindedness towards a goal simply bowled over him. Every day that passed in her company, this…this unnamable something grew within him. A breeze picked up and whistled through the mountain hollows. He looked away into the rustling, reedy grass. He could name every creature in Shinra's bestiary of Gaia's monsters. He could describe their strengths, weaknesses, and common mutations, but he couldn't bring himself to say any of the things that plagued him whenever he looked at her. She was married, and though she may have forgiven him, she would never see him as anything more…than what? He apologized faintly, "I'm sorry."

"I've already forgiven you, Sephiroth." she said and rubbed the back of her neck, "We should keep moving." Tifa dug into the pack that she carried and withdrew a ration bar, tossing him half. He would have gladly carried her satchel and his after having borne just the one before Thrymheim, but she defiantly insisted on all things being equal. He didn't have the energy to contest the point after dealing with Pole. They didn't talk about what he'd done, and he wondered if she were disappointed or disgusted with him.

They walked another hour, and the foliage on the terrain began to grow sparser. Bare blue stones sat on wide fields of short grass. They were up so high now that Sephiroth thought he might have seen Cosmo Canyon in the distance with his enhanced eyesight, but it was most likely some other unnamed mountain chain. A great waterfall roared in the distance. So soon? Tifa said it would take one day at minimum to reach Lucrecia's cave.

She seemed to sense his thoughts, "That isn't it. This part of the mountain range is full of grottos and waterfalls. I always thought it'd be a pretty place for a settlement, but…" An earth-rattling shake that had nothing to do with the nearby waterfall made Tifa fall silent and tense up.

Sephiroth unsheathed his sword. A king behemoth came bounding into view across the mountain plains. It chased several sheep, and the massiveness of its golden, lion-like body made its prey seem no larger than rabbits. It seized a ram in its large maw, devouring the bleating, crying thing whole in one fierce snap.

"That isn't supposed to be here." Tifa breathed. She checked over her materia.

"It hasn't noticed us," Sephiroth was prepared for the battle, but he didn't want to engage the beast if he didn't have to do so, "We should find cover."

He surveyed their surroundings…there were no nearby caves that were immediately obvious, and the waterfall seemed to be just that. It fed into a hole that spilled into a small pond more than sixty feet beneath them. If it had noticed them, Sephiroth wouldn't want them in an area where their footing could be compromised. There was a large outcropping of raised rock some thirty yards off. Too far.

Suddenly, the sheep veered their course and ran directly toward Sephiroth and Tifa. The king behemoth's yellow gaze settled on the humans, and it charged with a greater urgency, recognizing danger.

"It'll be on us in less than two minutes at that pace, Tifa." Sephiroth moved nearer to her, readying himself.

"I don't have any good materia for it," Tifa checked over her gauntlets and armband.

"There's never a good approach for taking these down," Sephiroth replied. The king behemoth truly earned its name. It dwarfed them, standing at least twenty feet in height. From its head to its tail, Sephiroth recalled that it measured at minimum forty feet in length. The powerful sinew of its legs flexed as it whirled around to pause on its haunches. It could call up powerful non-elemental magic.

"Shit!" Tifa exclaimed, "It's casting." The beast roared as a sigil of brilliant light formed underneath them. Tifa dove out of the way, Sephiroth leapt toward the beast. An unbearable heat had materialized behind him. He cast a wall spell immediately on himself and Tifa.

The king behemoth roared again, shaking its violet mane, and lowered its head. It pawed the ground and sped into a charge, in an effort to gore Sephiroth. He feinted for the left, missing its wicked horns by mere inches. He drove his sword into its throat and pulled back, retrieving his blade. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tifa cast Trine. Pyramidal runes of electricity formed before and launched themselves into the monster. It whined, jerked, and rammed its head into a nearby cliff face. She'd disoriented it. Clever girl.

Black blood streamed freely where Sephiroth had wounded it, but that was far from a killing blow. He slashed at the tendons of its ankles, and the great monster collapsed. It snarled and seemed to be casting again, but he wouldn't give it the chance. He ran up its spine, through its bristly mane, and plunged the sword directly through the top of its skull.

He rubbed away the blood on its dirty fur and slid down the behemoth's side.

"You make this almost too easy," Tifa quipped, "These things used to give us all sorts of hell. I don't understand how a king behemoth made it here. This is so far out of range. I'm worried. Another thing to add to the inventory of things that have to be reported to the PF." She gave the monster a small kick.

"It could be a one-off hybrid," Sephiroth offered, "The weaker kind sometimes give birth to stronger variants. There may be several breeding groups here enabling that."

She sighed, "Biology's not my bag, but that makes sense. If it weren't for the Insurrection, the PF might have already dealt with them."

They continued on, encountering nothing else. The placidity of the plains made Sephiroth no less vigilant. Where there was one behemoth, there were likely more. It explained the curious lack of weaker monsters of other strains in the area.

"We should expect more of the same. Hopefully this kind's weaker cousins are the only ones that we encounter." Sephiroth said.

"Well, let's just hope for luck." Tifa answered.

They walked for another several hours. As the sun settled directly before them, Sephiroth knew that it was late into the afternoon. A great seabird, some variety of heron or ibis, cried out above them. In a sky so painfully and starkly blue, its long graceful arcs in the sky were the only thing visible for miles until it disappeared behind a low green mountain.

"Mmm, we're close to the bay. At the end of the day, we should be able to see it. I used to think that I'd want to live near the water forever." Tifa looked into the sky, the wind tousling her wild dark locks.

"And you don't now?" Sephiroth questioned and then added, "SOLDIERs always favored Costa del Sol as a destination for leave. I've been there a few times, but I never saw the appeal."

"The beach is…nice. Swimming is wonderful exercise. And it has…had grown since you would've been familiar with its old attractions," Tifa paused to think, "I hadn't realized how much I missed _this_. Traveling. There I go again…sounding ungrateful. I just feel…what's the word — purposeful. If the circumstances were different, this would be fun. This far away from the Insurrection, I can almost pretend that I'm surveying another lake or scouting a place for a town."

Sephiroth glanced at her. She seemed wistful. His thoughts turned inward. He'd never traveled or explored for the sake of it. Every voyage elsewhere had a purpose, either a publicity op or a mission. What would he do with his life after this? That thought struck him with a shock, but the answer was immediate. His life wasn't entirely _his_ to lead…at least not until he'd repaid his debt to Tifa and to Gaia's people at large.

"After we meet with Lucrecia," Sephiroth cleared his throat and continued, "I would like to help you with the Insurrection…beyond the deciphering of those documents."

Tifa stopped at once, considering his offer. She seemed stunned, her ruby eyes and dark lashes thrown wide, "Only I know the full extent of what we're up again, but…Cloud would never…We need all of the help that we can get." She readjusted the jacket tied to her waist, folded her arms, and tapped one foot rhythmically.

"I'm thinking," Tifa said and added, "We'll head to Rocket Town after this. It's where our air operations are centered, and it'll be easier to start with Cid and Vincent. We'll have to win Avalanche over before…I can even consider talking to Cloud about you working with us. I'm sorry, Sephiroth, but he's not like me."

Sephiroth only nodded. He had already assumed that the blond commander wouldn't be nearly as forgiving as Tifa. They'd begun to descend in elevation, and the already humid weather grew hotter and heavier. Sephiroth thought he might have smelt the briny smell of the sea carried on the wind after he and Tifa had climbed down another untamed stretch of the path that she remembered. Stones jutted out of the mud every few feet. The incline on which they walked fell sharply and was sheer on either side. A path like this had it been charted would've had rails. Unlike their first few days of travel, Sephiroth noticed that Tifa was spry on her feet, stumbling over nothing. However the years of idleness in Costa del Sol had softened her, Tifa and her senses seemed to him as sharp as ever. Indeed, she'd grabbed him when he allowed himself to lapse off into thought and almost lost his step. She would have made a very fine scout if she'd been a bit older and they met much earlier.

Within an hour, the two found themselves in a cool pine forest. Everything dripped dew and smelt fresh. Sephiroth inhaled deeply. Time slipped away beneath the dark canopy. When they emerged from the forest, a large rocky bay yawned out before them. He looked down from the cliff's edge. Grassless hexagonal basalt columns were stacked upon one another giving the mountain's side and the ground far beneath them a stairway-like illusion.

"It's down there, but we'll have to spend most of tomorrow walking around this edge to get to a stable way down." Tifa said.

"Then let's use what little of the daylight that we have left to get as close to that path as possible," Sephiroth's tone was clipped. He couldn't mask the edge of anxiety that'd seeped out from somewhere deep within him. Staring straight ahead, Tifa's hair blew in the wind and shone a faint red in the dying sunlight. Above her, one gull cried out to another, and the moon unveiled herself as the sky deepened into the most brilliant indigo. They trudged along, saying nothing. Sephiroth watched as the bloody band of red on the horizon at last faded into violet.

Waves beat against the shoreline, water whistling through the odd columns of stone. Such a pacific scene was usually enough to capture his interest, but Sephiroth couldn't help but fidget. He adjusted the sword in its holster strapped to his back. He checked over the materia in his armlet. He looked back the way they came several times, wanting anything to distract him. A fat juicy pig to hunt….a chocobo to tame…hell, he'd even welcome another behemoth to battle.

Maybe she had or hadn't noticed, but Tifa had begun to chatter, "I don't know why the rocks are like that. There aren't many geologists still around, but the ones that we do have think that there may have been a volcano here once….years and years ago"

 _Thank you_. Sephiroth stepped in line with her, "It would explain why the bay is so perfectly rounded. Do you like geology?"

She laughed, "Not a chance, but everyone has to know a little about how the planet works these days."

They bantered back and forth for another hour until they found a safe area to camp against a small hill's face where they wouldn't be so exposed to whatever predators might have been prowling. When Tifa relieved him of his watch, he slept but couldn't say that he dreamt of anything pleasant. Lucrecia's face shone before Sephiroth. Her features so much like his — narrow face, slim nose, same hairline — appeared peaceful enough before her eyes began to grow dark…angry. She stood before him, shaking her fists. Lucrecia drew her hand back and struck him with as much force as she could muster.

"You are not _my_ son, you monster." She screamed.

"What?" He half-whispered in reply. Sephiroth's hands tingled. His eyes stung.

"How could I ever love you…after what you've done? Wake up."

"Wake up," she said again.

Sephiroth opened his eyes.

"Wake up." Tifa shook him gently. He shielded himself from the early morning light. Sephiroth brushed her hands away and pulled himself to his feet. He sighed.

"You were mumbling in your sleep. You look…well…do you want to talk about it?" Her voice was soft.

"No." He shook his head.

"Don't be nervous." She said suddenly, haltingly. Tifa half reached forward, half restrained herself as if she were struggling with something, "Look. I know we haven't known each other long, but I say this to all of my friends. I'm here if you need me." She settled on patting his arm.

Without even intending to do so, Sephiroth drew her into an embrace. She bristled at first but then let herself be held. He rested his head against her neck and exhaled on her shoulder, "Thank you for this. Thank you." His weight half pushed her over.

He felt her arms wrap around his shoulders. Her voice made the hairs on his neck stand on edge, "Of course, Sephiroth."

He could kiss her now. Sephiroth had never been so vulnerable, but she was already pulling away to pack their meagre supplies as they neared the journey's destination. The walk took half a day, all morning and afternoon. There were no more monsters or any other disturbances for that matter. Sea battered stone. That was all.

When they reached the cavern's edge, Sephiroth froze and watched the dazzling phosphorescence of mako crystals glint in a rainbow of colors. Tifa took him by the hand, a gesture startlingly intimate for where they'd been just a week and several days before, and led him inside. Though its adornments were dramatic, Sephiroth found that it wasn't a deep cave. They entered a large chamber. _She_ floated just before him. He released Tifa's hand and took one step forward. Sephiroth's knees were weak.

Lucrecia hadn't aged a day from the photo. Her silky golden brown hair spilt over her shoulders from a high ponytail and had grown in the long years of her confinement. Her arms swam freely in the green plasma beneath the hardened shell. The simple blue dress that she wore was perfectly preserved. Sephiroth who'd been fond of history thought about how she reminded him of an incorruptible saint like those people who followed the old faith used to revere. Seeing her before him, he placed a hand to the crystal and rested his forehead. It was an odd echo of Jenova in the reactor chamber…only this — _this_ was so much more.

"At last, I found you, Mother," he murmured. His voice was faint to his ears, and then he felt himself fainting? No, fading. Yes, unbecoming or dissolving into something else other than a man. His body seemed to lose its sense of corporeality, and the room faded from view, but _her_ face and a brilliant light grew, consuming all of his senses.

"Sephiroth? Sephiroth!" Someone else was shouting, but he could scarcely recall who. Sephiroth melted into the light, and that was all he knew.

* * *

A/N: CLIFFHANGER! Aren't I evil? The next chapter will be up soon. I'm getting ready to hit up a dance party at my town's art museum with some friends. Thank you for your reviews. I'm as pleased as pie that you're enjoying the story so far. I'm envisioning another 16 or 17 chapters, which will be focused entirely on the Protector Force and Insurrection, along with the relationships between Tifa, Sephiroth, and Cloud. I've had this part of the story better mapped out in my mind than the first, and it is going to be a blast to write once I get there.


	18. Chapter 17

Oblivion

* * *

Chapter 17

The woman stood in the small water closet and gripped both sides of the sink. In the mirror, she examined herself. Her expression wavered between severity and anxiety. For the third time, she'd retied her honey brown hair into a tighter top knot, smoothing away any errant curls that might have shaken free. She dabbed away the last of the pink lip gloss that she'd put on that morning. She regarded her nude face and felt pleased with the results. That was how a scientist looked. Her lips quivered. She couldn't quite stop her fingers from shaking.

She sighed, "You can do this, Lucrecia."

Lucrecia bent over and dug in her worn leather messenger bag to retrieve a manila folder. She thumbed over her curriculum vitae, some seven pages in length, and scanned it one last time for the slightest of errors. There were her university records, past projects, publications, and presentations. It all felt so meagre. Would it be enough?

Someone knocked at the door. A woman — the receptionist who'd shown her to the waiting room earlier that afternoon spoke, "Dr. Crescent, Dr. Faremis and Dr. Hojo are ready for you now."

"I'm coming. Just a minute." She couldn't shake the slight warble out of her voice. Lucrecia looked at herself one last time, unlocked the door, and stepped out into the stale room with its decades-old floral wallpaper. She followed the receptionist through a set of double doors into a hallway that had been obviously renovated. The walls were a stark white that the fluorescent light made all the brighter. The woman pointed at a door, which Lucrecia entered.

The room was plain…looking less like an office and more like an interrogation room that she might have seen on a procedural police drama. There were no windows. A half-dead snake plant sat in one corner. Her eyes settled on the two men who would be deciding the trajectory of her fledgling profession. They sat behind a large brown folding table. She recognized Dr. Faremis as the oldest of the pair from a previous conference that she'd attended. His brunet hair was grey at the temples, and he had a thick, drooping mustache that could drive a cowboy to envy. His eyes behind his gold-rimmed spectacles were a deep, warm hazel, which set her at ease immediately. He smiled.

The other man didn't appear much older than her. Indeed, this Dr. Hojo seemed too young to be a part of her interview, which unnerved her. He wore thick, black-rimmed glasses that shrank his dark eyes, suggesting extreme nearsightedness. Beyond high, defined cheekbones and a somewhat unfortunately large forehead, his face was otherwise plain and smooth. He wore his thin black hair in a neatly combed short haircut, but Lucrecia found herself intimidated when she lingered on his face. Before she'd spoken a word, his eyes narrowed. He let out a little puff of air that seemed to say that he was far from impressed. He radiated the sort of silent superiority with which she'd combatted almost the entirety of her education and subsequent career.

Dr. Faremis stood at once and shook her hand eagerly, "Dr. Crescent, may I call you, Lucrecia? Yes? Good. I am Gast Faremis. Just call me Gast. Don't be nervous. This will be a comfortable discussion. This is my colleague Masaharu Hojo. It is a pleasure to meet you. Thank you so much for coming. Please take a seat."

Lucrecia returned his handshake vigorously, "It is so good to finally speak, Gast. I followed your work all throughout school. Your presentation on obligate intracellular parasites was really something else." She turned her attention to his colleague, "I apologize…ah, Masaharu. I am less familiar with your work, but it is nice to make your acquaintance nonetheless." Lucrecia extended a hand, which the other man took only after a few moments had passed.

He cleared his throat, "I prefer Hojo." He released her hand and seemed to wipe his against his pant leg. If Masaharu or Hojo had wanted to make her uncomfortable, then he certainly succeeded. She sat.

Gast withdrew a folder from a file box that sat on the table and adjusted his glasses, reading, "Lucrecia, as you know I invited you here because we're getting ready to embark on one of the most incredible projects of the age. As the principal investigator, I am trying to assemble the most impressive minds across Gaia for my team."

He thumbed through the file, reviewing several pages, "This interview is really more a formality than anything else. You graduated at the top of your class from Junon Medical University at twenty-five and completed a biochemistry doctoral program in Rocket Town before that at twenty-two. You are to be commended for achieving such fine accomplishments at so young an age."

Lucrecia blushed, "Thank you, Gast." She didn't know what else she might say.

Hojo's thin voice filled the room then, "I find it rather interesting that you didn't pursue a program in electrochemistry. Your father Spurius Lucretius has served as a consultant on several recent energy projects that the company has conducted."

She controlled the frown as best she could, but Lucrecia did seem crestfallen at the odd comment, "I find my father's field interesting but felt it necessary to establish myself in another area, and I find my work fascinating."

Gast coughed, "What I think my colleague meant to say was that one great mind molds another, and we were simply surprised that you hadn't taken up your father's field, but it is to our benefit that you haven't. We need another biochemist on the team, and your qualifications match our needs perfectly."

"What is this project?" Lucrecia said. In all of their correspondence, Gast had carefully skirted the matter of discussing it with any sort of specificity.

"I'm afraid that we can only divulge the matter at Shinra HQ. The project is under the strictest level of secrecy. I know that it is highly irregular to make an offer to someone without going into the details of the work that they will be doing, but you have the opportunity to participate in the research of a lifetime. Do you accept?"

Lucrecia's eyes flashed. Something within her ignited. Her thoughts flickered from her famous father who infinitely overshadowed her to the mundane clinical research work she'd done at JMU's hospital. What did she have left? She'd recently split up with her partner, Garrett, bitterly after his affair with a young, pretty lab assistant revealed itself. All of her possessions sat in several boxes against the mudroom wall of the apartment that they no longer shared. She could move right away. This…this may have finally been the break that she needed to set her career apart, "I would be thrilled to work with you both."

Within the week, Lucrecia found herself flying into the metropolis. As the plane descended through the clouds, magnificent skyscrapers glinted in the sunlight. From her window, she saw the start of the construction of Midgar's massive plates, which elevated the city some one hundred stories above the ground. She'd be moving into a condominium on the second plate, and she strained to see whatever building might be hers even though Lucrecia knew it had been silly to attempt. She was a jumble of so many things…excitement, apprehension, and pride. They had chosen _her_ to participate in their research. She'd phoned her father immediately after she accepted the position, and there was no small amount of shock along with a touch of envy in his tone when she told him that she'd begin working directly at Shinra HQ.

Spurius Lucretius was an exacting man of small praise and even lesser patience. She visualized him. They shared so many features, only his brown hair had gone silver with age, and his eyes were the most brilliant green where hers were brown like her mother's. Try as she might to impress him with her work, he always seemed miles ahead of her — _until now_.

She disembarked from the plane and found the moving walkway that'd take her to baggage claim. Men and women in suits and lab coats rushed here or there with their luggage and briefcases. Every few meters there were security guards uniformed in red. As she stood, passing cafés and duty-free shops in Shinra's airport, Lucrecia withdrew a calendar book from her messenger bag. She circled the date, June 20th, 1975, with a red star and wrote, "Today is the start of the rest of my life."

Once she'd found her bags, she made her way through the security checkpoint and saw Hojo holding a sign with her name on it. He looked rather annoyed as if he hadn't wanted to be given such a menial task. Ever since their first meeting, Lucrecia had taken such a strong dislike to him. He hadn't spoken to her at all after the informal meeting no matter how she prodded him. He only waved her off without even looking up from his notes. An unfamiliar man accompanied him. Lucrecia gasped, and her heart thudded in her chest. She had never seen someone…so lovely.

She strode forward, unable to summon up a single word. This man in his immaculate black suit stood a little taller than six feet in height. His wavy hair was the color of jet, and the eyes, which shined shrewdly, were honey-dipped rubies. Lucrecia found nothing feminine about the full lips or slightly rounded cheeks. Hojo's strange companion was altogether something that a master sculptor might have envisioned.

"Vincent Valentine of the Turks." The man offered a hand, which Lucrecia took. She couldn't tear her eyes away from his, "I will be your handler."

"Handler?"

Hojo sighed with an eye roll, "You will be participating on one of the company's most sensitive projects to date. All senior staff are accompanied by Turks."

Lucrecia furrowed her brows, following the men. Vincent had taken her bags, and when she felt at last recovered, she spoke, "Well, Vincent, what exactly is a Turk?" They'd entered a sedan by then. She sat next to Hojo in the backseat, examining her nails. Lucrecia couldn't help but feel mildly embarrassed. She was behaving the way her teenaged self might have. Get it together, she berated herself.

Driving, Vincent looked in the front mirror and caught her eyes before directing his attention back to the road, "A Turk is an intelligence operative for the Shinra Corporation. Don't ask me how we came by the name. At some point, it was an acronym, but now it's ceased to mean anything. We handle delicate matters concerning the company's affairs."

"Is it really so serious?" Lucrecia couldn't help but ask. Of course it was…that was stupid to say.

"Tch. With its latest innovations in biomedical engineering and energy, Shinra's competitors are willing to do anything to catch up." Hojo, who'd been looking out of the window at the passing scenery, suddenly added. Lucrecia's cheeks colored.

Vincent nodded, "Correct. Competing companies aren't all we need to worry about…with the state that the government is in…it's only a matter of time until it dissolves."

"All for the better," Hojo said, "What good is it anyhow? It just gets in the way of the market and scientific progress."

Lucrecia sighed and turned her attention to the lights and sounds of the city. Beyond her studies and work at the hospital, the young woman never had had much of a mind for the _pretense_ of politics. Both parties, Gaia's True Sons and the Verdant Democrats, were ineffectual and quarreled, accomplishing very little in the public interest. It was a good thing that the act establishing the Corporate Parliament would soon take effect. After a few more thoughts, Lucrecia said, "Privatization is the future. It's primitive to think otherwise."

Hojo turned and looked at her as if she'd seemed sensible for the first time since they met, "Quite right."

Vincent remained silent.

Within the week, Lucrecia found herself settled in her small condo unit. It was modern, sleek, and designed wholly for functionality. She had no complaints. Everything was chrome, and it was even furnished. She sat in a chair that resembled a scooped out egg. She sipped a cup of coffee and read over her itinerary. After having filled out reams of paperwork, Lucrecia would at last have a crack at the lab.

Vincent picked her up promptly at nine in the morning and drove her to the laboratory. She was finally able to keep a cool head around him and greeted him calmly. He was equally as casual. She grabbed her bag and met Hojo at the door.

"Good morning." He nodded and led her into a large chamber. There was a glass-covered mako pool in the middle of the room, which had been situated within a depression on the floor. If you looked at it incorrectly, it might seem to be an interesting design in the otherwise smooth laminate. In the glass vat, something bobbed.

"What is…?" Lucrecia began and took two steps closer.

Gast bounded into view. His coat was smudged with what appeared to be grape jelly. His hair was disheveled, and he seemed to need a shave. He rubbed his eyes, which were grayed with dark circles, "Good to have you here at last, Lucrecia."

"It's wonderful to be here, Gast. But…what is _that_?" She peered into the pool. The doctor wasn't quite sure what she was seeing. The creature looked like a woman — that much could be said, but she appeared as dead as she seemed alive. Her or _its_ skin was a mottled grey, strewn with black veins that seemed to pulse at regular intervals. It had a face…a very human one, angular, fierce, and beautiful. There was _one_ eye, which shone a bright, unnerving red. Then, there was what looked like a heart, replete with large tubes that could have been arteries. These tubes fed out of the creature's stomach and terminated at its feet. A preternatural fear seized her. Lucrecia shook it off with a shudder.

"A bit much isn't it," Gast said, cramming a piece of toast into his mouth that she hadn't seen. He licked the jam from his fingers, "But, you get used to it. Lucrecia, tell me. What do you know about the Ancients?"

"The Ancients?" She began. She screwed her eyes shut, thinking back to the stories her mother used to tell her as a girl, "My mom called them the fair folk or the good people. They communed with the planet and taught man her mysterious ways. They were shepherds of spirits. I used to love those folktales, but it's obviously nonsense."

Hojo snorted, "Such an unimaginative mind. Think scientifically…think around the stories. Stranger things have had a grain of truth."

"I've just about had enough of your…" Lucrecia started before Gast interrupted her.

"Masaharu, I've invited Lucrecia here as an additional investigator on this project. You will respect her, or you will be reassigned."

The younger scientist pressed his lips into a thin line, "Very well. I apologize, Lucrecia. I can be difficult at times. What I meant to say was…that we have learned, through recent archaeological studies Shinra funded at satellite campuses, that the Ancients were indeed a real people. We've uncovered too many of their artifacts to deny their existence, but before now, we couldn't say whether they were merely an advanced civilization of ancient humans or…"

"Or…" Lucrecia breathed. She couldn't tear her gaze away from the creature in the case. Its silver hair floated freely, and it seemed with its glowing singular eye ready to sit up and climb out of the fluid any minute.

Hojo continued, "If they were our progenitors."

"Progenitors?" Lucrecia knew what Hojo was suggesting, but she couldn't help but voice the word aloud. She leaned over the case…the creature was near-human. If you gave its skin any of the expected colorings and removed the unexpected anatomy, then you'd be looking at a woman. How could such a thing ever have lived? The heart at its feet seemed to render all normal movement improbable. Her stare settled on the tumor on its right breast. It looked very much like an overly large eye. It took all of Lucrecia's willpower not to vomit then. She put a hand to her mouth, "You can't be suggesting that this _thing_ is somehow related to humanity."

"But, we are." Gast said. He patted Lucrecia's arm in a fatherly sort of way, "The Ancients harnessed energy in ways that we haven't even begun to conceive. Is it too much to speculate that they might have discovered and mastered genetic engineering as well? What if this creature is simply another of their marvels?"

A vast wonder replaced her horror. She looked between the two scientists, "Where did you find…it?"

Hojo answered, "Neither of us did. An excavation team uncovered the subject buried some two hundred meters beneath the surface in a crater in the permafrost region."

"Fascinating." Lucrecia breathed.

* * *

Two years passed. Lucrecia's mother Cassia died. Cancer. There was a funeral. People who knew her said heartfelt things. Lucrecia cried a lot. She saw Spurius Lucretius. They argued, and she called him unloving and unsupportive. "Unfeeling bastard" may have also been bandied about the room. She threw a vase at the wall and told him to get out of her apartment…to worry about his career and forget that she existed. She told him that her mother might still be alive if he'd been more attentive. Perhaps she'd said all those devastating, relationship-ending things because what she'd loathed in her father, she recognized within herself.

During that same period, the national government had at last fallen apart, and what little remained of regulatory policy restricting Shinra's research and business practices also dissolved. As corporations merged at an unprecedented pace and Shinra absorbed the old government's departments and functions, the Office of Corporate Social Responsibility became the Department of Urban Development. Company security evolved into a multitude of departments and sub-departments empowered with the remnants of military research and development. A crowded city grew larger, dirtier, and more powerful. Though there were more homeless people than Lucrecia remembered in the city beneath the plates, life had never been better. Scientific progress, which had inched along for decades, now ran marathons in herculean strides. The Midgardian renaissance had worked its magic too on the young woman who now stood on the doorstep of middle age. When she wasn't prim, proper, and buried in lab work, Lucrecia had arisen as quite the fixture among the metropolis's socialite class. She possessed the most exclusive association memberships and dined at the best restaurants, and her life, though not entirely happy, was satisfying enough.

* * *

 _30 November 1977_

 _Working Notes_

 _We've taken to calling the creature Lilith. It was my suggestion after the old myth regarding the creation of the first woman. However, after conducting a cellular examination of several tissue samples…I am starting to believe that we are looking at a complicated colony of…little extremophile chameleon cells, if you excuse the analogy. What I mean is that beyond the circulatory system, there are few other isolated body functions. There's no centralized nervous system, endocrine system, or excretory system…or rather, there's nothing resembling anything that we can recognize. Each of the cells, which are much smaller than human red blood cells, seem endlessly adaptable. They change color, shape, and size in reaction to light, and I am certain if exposed to the right stimuli, they may even change their chemical composition beyond what we've seen. Curiously, a tissue sample when separated will readily reattach itself to Lilith. Without a doubt, I can say that Lilith is alive — just not in the sense that we readily associate with complicated multicellular creatures. Her cells lack the signaling for programmed death. Indeed, the only way we've been able to kill the cells is through complete incineration, and even then, there is a chance for their regeneration if any of the right organic molecules remain. However, the cells' number remain static. In my two years of observation, none of Lilith's cells have reproduced themselves once. If we can figure out how to clone her cells and harness these marvelous abilities, the applications are legion…a number of diseases would be a thing of the past._

It was Saturday, which meant that Lucrecia had the day to herself. She placed her notebook in her desk. She looked at the photo that sat on the top of her bookshelf briefly as she exited the room. She saw herself standing between Gast and Hojo at a company party from the previous year. Gast smiled broadly with a hand thrown over her shoulder, and Hojo appeared uncomfortable. She couldn't help but look on it fondly — even Masaharu Hojo, with his complicated moods and myopic focus, had wriggled his way into her affection.

Lucrecia bathed and dressed in a bright lemon-colored sleeveless shirt-dress that flared from her shoulders, revealing sharp collarbones but nothing of her twiggy figure. There wasn't much that she had to do with her hair, having cut it in a sharp asymmetrical bob a few months before. She put on an equally yellow pillbox hat and grabbed a little black clutch. She regarded herself approvingly. Vincent met her at the door in a red two-door sports car that she hadn't seen previously. Something was different about today. She could feel it.

She sat in the front passenger seat, "Good morning, Vincent."

"Morning. Where to?" He asked, tinkering with a newly developed navigational unit.

"Eastside Lads' Disco, please." She murmured, withdrawing a pair of black leather gloves that she put on more for aesthetic than functionality. Lucrecia examined Vincent, taking in his shapely features, "Is this your personal car? You usually pick me up in a company one. You have good taste."

"It is. Thank you." He turned onto a bridge that connected one plate to another. They paused in the traffic. He looked at her, "Your usual weekend lunch?"

She nodded, "Indeed, Mr. Valentine, but I was…ah, wondering what I might have to do to persuade you to join me. You always sit in the car and read the Midgardian Sun."

The Turk quirked a brow, "It wouldn't be entirely professional…"

The woman feigned hurt, "I am starting to think that you don't like me, Vincent. Besides, I can assure you that _anything_ in Eastside Lads' is better than the cheesesteak you order from the deli across the street."

"I doubt it," Vincent snorted, "Driscoll's is renowned throughout town."

"Is it?" Lucrecia smiled, "All of these years escorting me here and there…you've never spoken a word about yourself."

"That's the point." Vincent said.

Lucrecia continued, "And, you keep eluding my overtures of friendship. I am half-tempted to ask for a replacement. A girl can only take so much rejection."

He thought carefully for a few minutes and then quipped, "I'm wounded. I thought that I'd done a perfectly adequate job of protecting you. Well, consider me moved. Gaia knows, I wouldn't want to be reassigned to a Shinra." Vincent added, "However, you'll have to come to my deli. Your education in Midgar's cuisine needs refining."

The diner reminded her of somewhere she might have dined as a girl. Everyone ordered at a lunch counter where there were chrome stools with bright red cushions of hard leather. The floor was checkered black and white. Photos of old racing cars with comically large fenders decorated the walls, and there were license plates from all over Gaia tacked here or there between the photos. The jukebox in the corner blared classic rock-n-roll. A waitress in a striped blue mini dress pushed a cherry-topped chocolate milkshake with two curly straws sticking out of it across the counter to a mother and her daughter. The little girl who was the perfect picture of the older blonde woman giggled when her mother blew into the straw making gurgling noises. Lucrecia's eyes grew damp. She looked at her feet and fiddled with her gloved fingers a moment before sitting at the counter next to Vincent. He'd taken off his suitcoat, revealing a starched white button-down shirt.

The teenaged waitress who worked the counter greeted him with a smile, after blowing a large pink gum bubble, "What'll it be, Vince? Your usual?"

He nodded, "But, I'll be dining in today. A menu for the lady please."

"Oh." The waitress's smile grew broader, "You've got it." She winked at him dramatically before handing Lucrecia a menu.

She scanned it half-heartedly before saying, "I'll have the same."

"You don't have to worry. Be yourself here. I won't judge you." It'd been a whisper. Vincent drew back and examined one of the car photos with false enthusiasm.

The two sat in a silence more companionable than it ought to have been given how little each one knew about the other. When their sandwiches came, Lucrecia bit into hers, and she'd be damned if it wasn't the best thing she'd had since she moved to this city. After the mother and daughter departed, Vincent ordered a milkshake for two with the silly twirling straws. The gesture stunned her into speechlessness. When she was back in the passenger seat, Lucrecia began to cry.

Vincent placed one hand on her arm while the other steered the vehicle. He didn't drive Lucrecia back to her apartment but rather went past it, veering onto a lane that she didn't know. They stopped in front of Midgar's botanical gardens, which didn't attract many people these days. He parked and opened her door in his usual quiet, gentlemanly fashion, extending a hand to help her exit. He bought two tickets, and they walked together past the dying roses and fading palms before pausing to sit on a bench, watching the hazy sunset through the greenhouse glass.

If she had everything, then why was she so sad?

"It's my job to know people," Vincent said, "The same way that you're a scientist, studying phenomena in a lab, the world is mine." The Turk waved his arm across the expanse of land in front of him. He looked at her, his burgundy eyes capturing hers, "I've watched you for two years, and you haven't been the same since _then_."

Neither of the two had to discern the _then_ to which Vincent was referring. He'd accompanied her to the funeral, standing like a stone sentinel in the background with folded arms. He walked her to the wooden box where the skeletal remnant of the body that had been her mother's had lain. He held her when she'd been unable to stand.

The rich timbre of his voice vibrated alongside her smaller frame, "I've watched you evolve into someone else that isn't you rather than grieve. Let it go."

Lucrecia looked up from her hands. Her tears had pooled in her gloves and beaded down her bare wrists. No one had ever talked to her like this. Both knew that he'd crossed a line.

A wan smile forced itself on her features, "So much for professionalism, eh?"

Saturday lunches with Vincent became the norm rather than exception, and one day lunch had transformed into dinner. Those occasions too became their status quo until Lucrecia found herself in Vincent's apartment, which looked a lot like hers though he seemed to favor dark wood paneling for his walls. She sat, flushed from wine, barefoot on a black area rug in front of a free-hanging fireplace. Lucrecia half-supported herself with one arm and half-laid on Vincent. It'd been four months since she'd gone to Eastside Lad's for her lonely Saturday lunches or visited any of her acquaintances at their clubs and associations. Her hair had grown past her shoulders, but she was no less fashionable. That acquired quirk remained. That evening she wore a single-shoulder silver sequin cocktail dress. Every now and then, she rubbed her feet, which were sore from having danced all night. Vincent continued to surprise her with his interests. She couldn't have cared less about the time.

As she half-dozed, staring into the fire with her head on Vincent's shoulder, a sudden realization washed over Lucrecia. What she'd felt for the man beside her was beyond any shallow attraction she might have had for a handsome face. It didn't quite patch the hole that the death of a beloved mother had created, but…she felt full of warm light.

"Vincent." She whispered, "I'm falling for you."

He laughed, "Took you long enough. I've been smitten with you since I first set eyes on you."

Lucrecia giggled, unsure if it was the wine or the silliness of a man and woman in love that made her feel so giddy. How couldn't she have recognized it? He kissed her temple and then her jawline…languidly…teasingly. His fingers ghosted her ribs, and she returned his heated gaze, nodding.

Vincent pulled back for a moment, propping himself on his knees. He studied her intensely.

"What's wrong?" She asked.

"Nothing." He shook his head, "I'm remembering this moment."

Another Saturday, he kissed the inside of her knee before following a well-established trail upwards with his tongue. Lucrecia threw her head backwards breathless. She couldn't fathom loving someone else so much, and then as she came back down, recovering her senses after Vincent had lain down beside her, his body slick with sweat, an old fear consumed her.

She thought of her parents and how their happy marriage soured.

* * *

Three months after New Year's Day, Lucrecia left Vincent. It was 1979. Tremors preceded the quake. There were broken plans. She worked late…too much. Reviewing documentation, she'd missed Valentine's Day along with the three make-up dates that followed. On the nights when they'd been at one time so wrapped up in each other, she puzzled over the latest series of changes she'd observed in a sample from the lab. Vincent's initial patience slid into silent strain before manifesting as open frustration. Then, there was the ring and her hesitation.

A house? A child? It was too much, too soon.

He told her that he was tired of waiting…that he was thirty-one. She was twenty-nine. People settled down at this age. He held her to his chest. As he shook, Vincent murmured into her hair that if she were serious about what they had, then she wouldn't make him wait like this. She pushed back, looking up at him with trembling hands. Science was her life. It was a first love and opioid rolled into one. When she tried to explain the sacrifices of a lonely childhood, the nights spent slogging through Chemistry 101 in a class with peers twice her age, how she'd fought for her first highly competitive lab placement, the hell that was her first full year of medical school, or the applications her work might have for modern medicine and beyond — looking into Vincent's face made it all seem so trivial. He was hurt, and she'd hurt him. If she asked him to wait, she knew he'd relent. That was who he was…who her mother Cassia had been when her father's nights away from home doing research stretched into weeks. She loved Vincent to the point of pain, but she couldn't force him into such a union. Choosing both, love and career, one would inevitably suffer, and in her heart, she knew that her childhood dream wouldn't be the thing to languish.

Vincent didn't ask to be reassigned. It made her ache to see him, which was nearly every day. He'd gone back to being impeccably professional, which meant stoicism and an averted gaze that scanned the streets for imaginary dangers because it was infinitely more dangerous to look her in the eyes. Lucrecia dined alone again on her Saturdays. She resumed her old habits with less enthusiasm and found that the awe her research once held had dimmed, and her life, though more sad than happy, was bearable enough.

* * *

 _2 May 1979_

 _Working Notes_

 _Hojo and I have uncovered a breakthrough. I had hypothesized previously that Lilith's cells might have a function similar to that of a mitochondrion's…but rather than oxidizing glucose's products to generate energy…they seem to respond best to mako — though all other forms of nutrition do have an effect, it is lesser. We've proceeded thusly: in our latest round of animal experimentation, we've replaced the mitochondria in fertilized leopard embryos with Lilith's cells before implanting them in surrogate hosts. Then, the surrogates were given biweekly injections of mako and Lilith's cells. We've established two treatment levels apart from our control group where we've varied the dosage. Hojo tried to establish a third treatment level, submerging a host in mako, but it quickly sickened and mutated before dying. I have written a memo with recommendations to Security R &D on the parallel SOLDIER project with regard to the risks of mako overexposure. The subjects born from our host mothers exhibit the most unusual features. They're stronger, healthier, but with unusual coloration. They have no spots, and they exhibit unusual and somewhat unnerving abilities. One, when agitated, turned a lab assistant into stone by some means unknown to us. Hojo designated the species "Panthera pardus coeurlis." Unfortunately, the subjects were too dangerous to allow to live. We had to burn them to prevent further incidents. However, we were able to replicate the cells at last! The material that we recovered from the subjects did not reattach to Lilith though it seems to share a certain resonance. I will investigate this further. _

_Personal note — I find Gast's absence on this new area of the project regrettable. His insights on the latest results would be invaluable given his current fieldwork in the archipelago where the seat of the Ancients' empire was thought to be. He is consulting with a team of ethnographers who are interviewing individuals from the farming communities on the isles in hopes of uncovering some genetic survivors of the Ancients. We're unsure of how similar they'll be to Lilith or us if he finds anything at all. At this point, any discovery that can help us untangle Lilith's mysteries would be a boon. There is something there. I know it. Another thought, Hojo is a good lab partner. I was initially worried about his promotion to co-investigator in this project. He is arrogant, sometimes to the point of condescension, but he is a brilliant scientist nonetheless. I see our work over the next several months being very fruitful._

After several glasses of bourbon in her office, Lucrecia found herself drunk at work for the first time in her career. She'd thrown her lab coat over her desk an hour earlier and leaned back in her swivel chair. Feet propped up on the desk, she reached for the bottle near the chair's wheels to pour herself another. It'd been a shit day. The door creaked open, or rather Masaharu Hojo had opened it. Through her blurred vision, she couldn't tell whether he was smug or…well, who the hell cared anyway?

"What do you want?" Lucrecia groaned. She ran her hands through her unbound hair, pulling at her scalp. She gave herself another long pour and threw the drink back, savoring the burn.

Hojo wrinkled his nose and closed the door behind him, "If this is what you do when your project proposal gets denied, then you may as well quit." He sauntered into her office, picked up her notes, which were strewn across the room, and sat across from her. He arranged the papers into a single pile onto the desk. With surprising quickness and strength, the scientist pried the bottle from her grasp and placed it on the floor beside him, out of her reach. He leaned forward on his slim arms, placing his chin into his bony, little hands. She was tempted to kick him, but she hadn't wanted to lose her job that badly. Lucrecia placed her feet on the floor and sat as upright as she could muster.

"Go to hell, Hojo. I'm not in the mood for your shit." Lucrecia massaged her temples. "Give me back my whiskey."

"No." He said with a sigh, "I read your proposal to JMU Hospital's oncology department. Good proposal. Solid ideas. But…"

She licked her lips and leaned backwards. Masaharu Hojo had her attention. She fixed him with a glare, "But what…"

"You had no precedent from which to draw," he breathed, "If you want to set the world on fire with new work, then you better not go without results from another study."

"I had results!" Lucrecia shouted. She grimaced at herself. She sounded shrill. She hated that.

"You had conjectures and animal trials." Hojo retorted, "If you want to introduce a new treatment, then you'd better go with something that has been proven to work in humans."

"What the hell do you think I was trying to do? Do you even know what it's like to work in a hospital? Everyone walks on goddamn eggshells. I am sick of those men and their red tape. They still don't respect…" Lucrecia clamped down at once. She wasn't going to break down in front of Hojo who epitomized all that she despised about her profession. She was no less talented or determined. She released a long breath. Her head was beginning to pound. She grasped the cherry wood surface before her to regain some focus.

Hojo placed a hand on the desk near to hers, "Look, you can drink yourself unconscious, or you can get smart. You think that I haven't faced rejection like this before? Lucrecia, you're being too emotional about this. Learn to detach."

She fixed him with a hard stare, "Well, what do you propose?"

His eyes glittered, "A new experiment similar to our others. Small-scale…single specimen… _human_. If you want to communicate Lilith's capabilities in human subjects, then you need an example."

"What?" She balked. The very thought sobered her, "I suggested a medical study…not _that_."

"You want to prove the adaptability of her cells?" Hojo shook his head, "An introduction during the fetal stage of development would exert the greatest effect as we've already seen."

It was bold…absolutely unprecedented. She laughed, "I won't say that it isn't the most daring thing that I ever heard, but where the hell do you think you'll get a willing candidate for both egg donation and as a carrier? Sure, you can recruit a shantytown girl, but you're not likely to get a healthy participant, and then of course, there're the ethical implications. Anyone educated enough to give you consent wouldn't dare."

The scientist said nothing. He only looked at her expectantly.

Lucrecia gasped, "How could you even suggest such a thing? You've got some nerve. Get out of my office."

Hojo shook his head with a low chuckle, "Think on my offer, Lucrecia. Your old research institution with its ethical review board may not be behind you, but Shinra is. After all, I always thought of you as a more enterprising mind." He let that last comment hang in the air without waiting for her retort.

Lucrecia had seen through Hojo's obvious goad, but still…perhaps, his suggestion had merit. The prospect had a way of creeping into her work. When she was supposed to be writing up the results from yet another animal trial, she found herself puzzling over the methodology of the new experiment. It was entirely unacceptable for _her_ to be both donor and carrier. Hadn't she just turned down raising a child?

"I wouldn't be its mother exactly," Lucrecia mused to herself aloud one evening in her apartment over tea. Her dehumanization of the proposed subject made her cringe. This would be a person — a man or woman with thoughts, favorite colors, and preferred ice cream flavors. If they injected a fetus with Lilith's cells, they couldn't even rightly say what might be birthed into this world. She recalled the mutated leopards from one of their first experiments. No, it wasn't right.

She picked up her cup and walked into her kitchen. She poured what remained of the tea down the sink's drain and opened the refrigerator door, withdrawing a covered glass dish of cubed potatoes and half-moon zucchini slices. Lucrecia upturned the dish onto a roasting tray and pushed it into the preheated oven. Someone ringed her doorbell.

"Coming!" Lucrecia shouted. Her stomach fell at the prospect of her visitor.

She rounded the corner and peered through the porthole. Hojo? She'd been expecting Vincent.

"To what do I owe this unexpected pleasure?" Lucrecia drawled, fixing Hojo with her most imperious stare.

The scientist smirked slightly, "Heard you were flying out to Junon tomorrow to pitch your proposal again. I came to offer some camaraderie."

"You?" Lucrecia stared at him incredulously. He raised a bottle of merlot into view. She regarded him for a moment before relenting and waving him inside, "Make yourself at home. I just put dinner on. I'm only making enough for one."

"Oh," Hojo murmured sauntering into the room, "I didn't intend to stay long." She took his proffered bottle of red and walked into her kitchen. Lucrecia felt like bugs were crawling up her skin. She dug in a cabinet above the refrigerator, withdrawing a stainless steel wine bucket to keep the bottle cool and scanned her fridge again for whatever meagre offerings could pass as hors d'oeuvres. She hadn't been home much these days. There were a few green figs and some soft cheese. She placed what she had on a tray somewhat haphazardly, grabbed two crystal tumblers, and returned to the living room with the wine in tow.

She sat across from Hojo in her half-egg armchair, pouring him and herself glasses. She sipped lightly, "House calls aren't like you."

"Don't decorate much do you? Your house still looks standard issue." Hojo scanned the room, "No, it isn't like me, but we're neighbors, and I assumed you could use the company."

Neighbors? Since when? Lucrecia thought. She'd never seen him in the hall or around the mailbox room. He seemed to live in the lab, as if he manifested from the walls each morning, but that still didn't explain the exact reason for him being here. "If this is about the experiment…" Lucrecia started.

"No," Hojo interrupted, "It isn't. Your proposal is stronger this time around. Hopefully you'll get cleared. A medical study would add a new dimension to our work. After all, we still don't have the means to analyze its genes. They do seem to exhibit a base compatibility across everything that we've spliced so far. Hmm…a universal genome…" He trailed off as was his manner to consider several other thoughts that'd come to him.

Only half listening, Lucrecia studied him for a long moment. His angular face had grown more severe in the last several years. At the corner of his eyes, the beginnings of crow's feet lay wrinkled into his skin. Hojo was only a year her senior. His pedantic life had begun to take its toll. The scientist's thin hair had grown past his ears and would soon be long enough to catch up in a ponytail. Hojo was neither a handsome man nor an ugly one. For the briefest moment, Lucrecia saw something in him that reminded him of her father. A certain spark or fire…was that what she lacked? His wine sat untouched. He hadn't moved for a fig or any of the other things that she'd prepared in all the time he'd been here. Still rambling on, he looked past her as if he were conversing more with himself…always reaching for a last answer in the everlasting puzzle that was their profession.

"Hojo," Lucrecia said, "Why did you become a scientist?"

That seemed to throw him out of his train of thought. He cleared his throat and looked at the table, placing his hands into his lap, "Well, it was actually a mere coincidence. My mother was from Wutai. She was a refugee fleeing the fallout following the Kisaragi coup."

That hadn't been what Lucrecia expected. She snapped to attention, placing her tumbler on the table. The room had suddenly grown somber.

Hojo remained impassive, "She was pregnant when she arrived on the coast of Rocket Town. I was born in the camps that'd formed there. She died shortly after I was born."

"That's horrible." Lucrecia drew a hand across her face.

"All that I have from her is my name. From what I understand, another family started caring for me. The government intervened after a time."

"I suppose the cameras showing the human misery building up on its shores forced it into action." Lucrecia added darkly. She had been no scholar of history, but the recycled television stories showing children crying behind barbed wire fences, men and women warming their limbs over cardboard fires, and all manner of vermin rooting through refuse alongside the miserable masses remained with her.

Hojo shrugged, "I ended up in an orphanage. I focused on schoolwork and excelled at chemistry and biology."

"You were never adopted?"

Lucrecia's answer was another shrug, "No. I was not. The orphanage was clean, efficient. The resident aides were strict. I liked the orderliness of it all, but when I discovered science, I knew that I'd found my calling. It's the process of experimentation that fascinates me…there's always another layer to uncover."

Listening to Hojo depressed Lucrecia. Yet, she understood, "For me…it's the goal. I like to see my work create something that helps someone. It's why," Lucrecia tapped her portfolio, which also sat on the table, "This proposal is everything to me."

There was a knock at the door. Vincent. She'd entirely forgotten, "I apologize. Vincent is here to go over security details for tomorrow's flight."

"Ah," Hojo nodded, "Well, I should leave. Again, good luck."

Lucrecia drained her wine and placed it on the banister that led upstairs. She opened the door, "Goodnight, Hojo."

"Same," He nodded to Vincent on the way, unperturbed by the look that the other man had given him. Lucrecia hadn't been so oblivious.

"Come in." She wandered off into the kitchen and retrieved her dinner, which had been nearly forgotten as well. When she entered the room again, she saw that Vincent had sat in her favorite chair, helping himself to a fig. He'd placed a file on the table, "Same schematic. Nothing new."

Lucrecia set her plate down on the table, picking up the file. It contained her flight plans and hotel arrangements along with Vincent's. He'd be staying in the room adjacent to hers. There were a few statements about possible risks…anti-corporate agitators had caused some recent problems. Very precise. Very Vincent, she thought. It was strange that he hadn't said anything. She looked up from the table.

The Turk's burgundy gaze grabbed hers. His shoulders had tensed. He looked down to the wine, across the spread of figs and now warm, melting cheese, and back to her. Vincent exhaled sharply, "Hojo…of all people?"

Confusion colored her eyes, "What?" In spite of herself, Lucrecia laughed, "Vincent, we broke up months ago. Hojo just came over to offer support for tomorrow's pitch."

"I'm sure." He replied. His tone was neutral.

Lucrecia flushed. His comment felt like an accusation. She sighed, "You never asked me about work, Vincent…except to tell me that I was doing too much of it." The woman wrung her hands.

He stood suddenly, holding himself stiffly, "I…Goodnight, Lucrecia."

She didn't even have time to reply before Vincent had gone. Lucrecia ran a hand across her face, "I could have handled that better." Everything about Vincent felt impossible to broach. She wanted to run after him and tell him how much she loved him, but it was impossible for her to rise from the couch. She ate dinner mechanically. She washed dishes. She slept.

A week later, Lucrecia returned to Midgar in a furor. Everything about the trip had been horrible from the sullen flight with Vincent to the bout of food poisoning that she'd endured from a bad batch of oysters. It went without saying that JMU Hospital's research review committee rejected her once more. It didn't matter that it came from Shinra HQ or had Hojo's letter of approval attached to it.

She remembered the smirk that her old colleague Gregor Ayala had given her. He'd sat on the committee and caught her in the lunchroom afterwards. Largish with thinning hair, Gregor stroked his scarlet beard and shook his head, "Dr. Crescent, I admire your ambition, but I might propose a little restraint."

Lucrecia could tell that he was loving this. Before she'd even left the hospital, Ayala had had his eye on open positions with Shinra's Science Department. They'd always been competing. It wouldn't have surprised her if he had been her strongest objector behind closed doors. She scooted a cucumber sandwich around a saucer she'd been holding with one finger. Lucrecia sucked in a breath and returned his slight smile, "Noted."

In the lab, she'd looked over her notes unable to focus on her work at hand. She retreated into her office and laid her head in her hands. At one point Hojo entered and sat across from her. He sniffed.

"I'm not drunk if you're checking for brandy." Lucrecia whispered, peering at him between her fingers. She breathed deeply, "Hojo, I do this to help people. As much as I love the work, I am as much a doctor as I am a biochemist. Lilith fascinates me, but if we can in some way apply what we know about her to new areas of medicine, we could cure cancer, reverse neurodegenerative conditions, or help people walk again."

Hojo folded his arms, "Then, why are you reluctant to proceed with my experiment? We know that Lilith's cells cannot die in lieu of complete incineration, and they are similarly resilient in the subjects that we've observed thus far."

"Because it scares the hell out of me, Hojo," Lucrecia said, "This is a person. A patient can consent. A child cannot. What if we create a monster? What if they're dangerous? I couldn't live with it."

"Lucrecia, look at me," Hojo said. She lowered her shaking hands to her desk, and stared into his dark eyes as he continued, "I'm here with you every step of the way. You are a doctor. Were the first discoveries for localized anesthetic or vaccination no less risky or controversy-mired? We are discoverers. This is what we do."

She stood from her desk and walked around the small room. There was one window where she kept a potted aloe on the sill. Lucrecia had read somewhere that they were meant to remove stress from a room. Well, she wanted her money back. She paced to the bookshelf where she kept medical journals and lab notes in labelled binders. Lucrecia ran her fingers against the hard, blue plastic spines. She looked at her degrees, four in total for each level of education framed against the wall. This room was everything that she was. She returned to her desk and folded her hands. Lucrecia nodded, "Very well. Let's proceed to the next step."

* * *

In December of that year, Hojo moved the entirety of the project to Nibelheim. There'd been a falling out in the lab several months prior. Gast removed himself from the project as co-investigator, leaving Hojo to assume the role of leadership. Lucrecia learned that a number of things had influenced that decision. Gast had met a supposed Ancient called Ifalna. She only observed the woman from a distance when reviewing lab results. She'd come to Midgar from her home in the Southern archipelago. There was something spectral about her. The woman's skin seemed to glow, and her oceanic eyes radiated a kind of light that had nothing to do with mako exposure. She claimed to speak with the planet and said it with such conviction that Lucrecia had almost been driven to belief. She called Lilith a word in her language that seemed ugly and hateful to her ears — Jenova. Her mentor had looked on her with disappointment when he learned about their next course of study. He told her that it was dangerous and begged her to reconsider…that Lilith hadn't been what they thought. Shinra dismissed Gast's fears and Ifalna's words as nonsense. The only change that Hojo made was to rename the project accordingly. Lilith became Jenova.

* * *

 _20 January 1979_

 _Working Notes_

 _We're calling this unique sub-project, Sephiroth. I chose the name. It will be the child's name. His birth will be a revelation to us. Shinra believes that Sephiroth will be somehow able to lead us to the Ancient's fabled Promised Land. I am not so naïve, but I believe that this child will reveal something to us of ourselves. It has been four months since implantation. Sephiroth is a boy, and he is remarkably healthy._

 _Personal Note — I've tried to remain unemotional about this. I married Hojo last month. It seemed right. We're kindred souls, and even if I don't entirely love him, I know that our marriage will be enough to see this through. It has been a trying time. Vincent is here. We aren't speaking. A part of me will always completely love him, but I can't be who he needs me to be. I wonder sometimes if what I am doing is right. Try as I might to remain detached, I am elated to be a m…_

She couldn't quite finish that last word.

A house? A child?

Past thoughts mocked her. Lucrecia put her journal into her desk and peered out of the manse's window. It'd been someone's estate years before Shinra purchased it. Nibelheim, though lonely and isolated, was a beautiful town. Its cobblestone lanes disappeared between houses, and there were many fine dark firs, which hid the pastoral hillsides from view. She wondered who she might have been if she'd grown up here. As the surrogate to Sephiroth, Lucrecia wasn't capable of doing much manual lab work anymore. It hadn't stopped her from reading and annotating lab notes. The pregnancy was difficult and draining — more so, now that she'd started receiving injections of Jenova's cells and mako in addition to the ones that'd been injected into her uterus. She walked down the stairs with some difficulty, catching up the loose floral housecoat she wore in one hand. Hojo insisted that she stay in bed most of the day, but Lucrecia couldn't spend every moment in that insufferable room. She walked out of the mansion and into the town square. She peered up at the water tower, which was positioned over the heart of the Nibel region's aquifer. Its rough, wooden casing that hid the massive metal barrel beneath held a certain charm for her.

"Hiya, Cia! How're ya doing this fine day?" A woman with long mahogany locks and a warm, ruby gaze waved from across the square to her. She walked over to her, "You'll catch your death in this weather. My…look at how you glow, but you should get back inside before you get sick"

"You are as lovely as ever, Zenovia. I just had to get out for a few minutes" Lucrecia hugged the woman. She started to ask the other woman about her day when her head began to swim. She covered her eyes.

"Cia?" Zenovia held Lucrecia's arms.

"I feel strange." She said and pitched forward.

Lucrecia recovered consciousness a week later. Vincent was dead.

"What?" she said numbly.

Hojo ran a damp cloth against her forehead and then checked her pulse, "He attacked me. I defended myself."

That wasn't like him. Something within her shriveled. She couldn't speak.

* * *

Lucrecia's fainting spells became more frequent. Though she knew that Hojo preferred to work in Nibelheim, he moved the project back to Midgar where his instruments that he'd been unable to move were. He wanted to be able to monitor her more regularly. These last months seemed to pass more quickly. Sometimes Lucrecia was here, and other times she was somewhere or someone else. She saw a silver-haired man at times who looked very much like herself. Sometimes she saw him at a desk in the headquarters, reading over notes or discussing military strategy…something beyond her, but more frequently, when she saw him, her surroundings seem to disappear entirely. He did grisly things…killed people. She begged him to stop. Shouted at him. Somehow, she knew that the son who grew within her womb was the man that she'd seen. After she'd snuck out of the lab to attempt to solve her problem in the city beneath the city, Hojo had her confined. Her lucid days had grown few.

* * *

 _9 March 1980_

 _Journal_

 _They tell me that Sephiroth was born yesterday and that I cried to hold him. I love him even though I know I shouldn't. I know what he is…will be…I know what I've done. I've damned us both._

They let Lucrecia pack the journal though they'd confiscated all of her working notes. Hojo had divorced her sometime during her madness quietly. It didn't matter much. She'd kept her name anyhow. They flew her to Rocket Town. A new Turk accompanied her. She didn't bother to learn his name. Spurius Lucretius met her at the gate and ran to clutch her to his chest.

It'd been three years since they'd spoken, and he seemed frailer to her…smaller than she remembered. His voice too was fainter than she recalled, "My poor sweet baby, what did they do to you?"

She couldn't speak. He wouldn't understand. When he took her by the hand and led her to the two-story home that they used to share, she felt like a child again. She half expected to see her mother round the corner.

A month passed. Lucrecia thought about Sephiroth a lot. She wondered how he might look now. Her visions assured her that he appeared mostly human. Would Hojo treat him well? She sat at the dining room table. Everything seemed dim.

"Cia, you have to eat something." Her father murmured. He held a spoon of soup in front of her. Nothing held smell or taste anymore.

Lucrecia smiled and said, "Never remember seeing you at home so much before."

She died on a Saturday. Something about it seemed fitting. She asked Spurius Lucretius to buy her a cone of ice cream from Mayberry's Stand, which was perhaps a fifteen minute walk from their house. She knew him well enough to know that he'd wander off to attend to other errands first. Lucrecia needn't have had a biochemist's background to mix an effective enough poison from the household cleaners under the kitchen sink. It was one gulp. Her breath quickened, and then there was nothing.

* * *

 _In the dark sky, the sun was a pin-prick of yellow orange light. There was a lab. A mass of grey flesh quivered in a prism of light. It knew itself. Ark. Mother. Vessel of life. Chalk-white humanoids, tall and silver-haired, regarded it across the room. A male stood in front of the others in a skin-tight environmental suit. He reached out to the flesh with a psionic grasp._

 _"Your purpose," he said without speaking, "Find habitable worlds. Convert and steer the evolution of unicellular life. Preserve us."_

* * *

Lucrecia awoke within a cavern. Death had an awful way of feeling a lot like life. She wore a blue dress. The acrid odor of mako burned the back of her throat, and as she gained awareness. She knew that she'd failed. She recalled what Hojo had said about Jenova's cells and thought about what she'd just seen. _Preserve us._ From how many worlds away and how many eons ago had that last plaint emerged? She understood Jenova more perfectly than anyone would ever be able. She had to annihilate herself entirely. She looked to the green pool behind her and submerged herself.

* * *

Sephiroth had lived an entire life in a matter of hours. He'd seen Lucrecia's birth, lived through his own, and her several attempts at death. Where he stood now was beyond him. Everything was formless blackness. A thought ghosted through him — a memory of his mother's, not his — wondering if this was the zero state that preceded the big bang or the chaos from which the oldest gods emerged. It was difficult to disentangle the thoughts and inclinations that were hers from his, but he was becoming more himself.

A light manifested before him, and he propelled himself toward it until the indistinct aura assumed a familiar shape, Lucrecia.

She opened her eyes and smiled, "Hello, Son. It's so wonderful to finally meet you."

The woman, who hadn't wanted to be a mother, reached out for him and held Sephiroth to her breast.

A swarm of things filled the man. He knew this feeling now…love arose within him. It was all-consuming. His face was damp.

"After all of these years." Sephiroth breathed.

"Yes," she murmured.

Sephiroth couldn't have said how long they stood that way. She pulled back, and he stared down at her, "I know what you want, and I can't do that."

"You can," Lucrecia said, "You have to be strong. I know you can do that for me. I will never blame you for what you did. I don't deserve it, but please do this one last thing for me."

How could he deny her anything? It was enough that she loved him. He nodded, "Very well."

Sephiroth took Lucrecia's hand, and it began to glimmer. The action was instinctual. The parts of her that had been Jenova at last finally died, and she aged before him rapidly. Her hair grew as silver as his own and her stance, squatter.

The voice of an old woman spoke to him, "Please, Sephiroth. Don't live by my example. When you find the someone that makes you happy…keep them close."

Whatever was left of Lucrecia dissolved, and the world in which he stood began to fade. He needn't have feared losing her. Everything that Lucrecia had known, felt, and ever been now rested within him. Sephiroth at last _understood_.

* * *

A/N: WHEW! I toiled over this chapter for the past two or so weeks. I'd had this part of the story thought out ages in advance. I knew that I'd wanted to write a chunk of Lucrecia's backstory into this story as a means for helping Sephiroth work through his emotional gunk and also to lay the seeds for an ancient astronaut-tinged sequel. I wanted to explore the structure of Shinra as an organization also along with adding a little more meat to the Science Department's staff. I'll confess…I hated Lucrecia's Dirge of Cerberus reimagined backstory. Her motivations for leaving Vincent for Hojo and agreeing to be a guinea pig seemed so weak and flimsy, and she was a complete afterthought in the original game. So, this was my take on her. I wasn't entirely sure if I should split this chapter given how much longer it is than the others, but it felt right to keep together as it is more of an extended one-shot in the middle of the main action. The next chapter returns us to Tifa and Sephiroth.

A few more notes…someone commented about the categorization of this story. Cloud is tagged as a prominent character as he's the tritagonist, and you'll be seeing a lot of him in the rest of the story. Moreover, everything pointing towards Sephti has been rather one-sided. Concerning names, I named Lucrecia's father directly after her mythical counterpart's. Lucrecia's name is likely derived from the fictional Lucretia whose violation by Ancient Rome's king Sextus Tarquinius led to an overthrow of the monarchy. This can easily be found on a wiki in more detail. I also called Jenova, Lilith, as I feel like she wouldn't have been called Jenova right off until Gast learned the name from an actual Cetra who knew what she was. Akkadian, Babylonian, Sumerian, and Jewish mythology have made Lilith a lot of things…the first woman and the mother of all demons. Lilith has also been hypothesized to be a type of goddess that had been "demoted" as other religious traditions took precedence. I thought it worked for how ambiguous a creature Jenova is in the game. What she is beyond being extraterrestrial still isn't very well established. Anywho, I hope you enjoy this chapter. :D


	19. Chapter 18

Oblivion

* * *

Chapter 18

Sephiroth reemerged in the cavern so suddenly that he couldn't even blink. Frozen breath. He forced air into his lungs. Blood, stopped in his veins, started to flow and roared dully in his ears. His heart beat with its familiar assurance of life. Thud. Thud. Thud. He put a hand to his chest. Scintillating colors bounced off of the surrounding crystals. He blinked. It was all too much. The sound, the lights. He covered his eyes to stop the spinning and stumbled down the natural stairway into the center of the chamber.

Tifa called out to him, "Sephiroth!" Where was she? She sounded further off than she ought to have been, "Gaia, where did you go? It's been a whole day."

Voices ghosted through him. He drew his hand away from his face and blinked. Lucrecia wandered into a café. He rubbed his eyes. He held a file that he passed off to his lab assistant. No. That wasn't right. Sephiroth's knees buckled. A swoon overcame him, and he pitched forward into waiting arms.

When he awoke, he lay beneath a quarter moon and turned his head toward a stinging, salty breeze. Starlight illuminated a low tide that bubbled and foamed on the pebble shore. He coughed and licked his dry lips. Sephiroth who'd never even caught a cold found himself feeling uncharacteristically hoarse. He pulled himself into a weak cross-legged seat, his mind clearing.

"Easy now," Tifa murmured. She walked over to him from the other side of a smoky pit. Sephiroth rubbed a hand against his temple before accepting an offered canteen. He drank and studied their surroundings. Tifa had moved them to a scooped in area of the cliff surrounding the bay. Natural walls stood on either side of them. He rested his hands in the soft moss and ferns beneath him. Looking over the position of the stars, he knew it was approximately 3:00 a.m.

His voice was raspy to his ears, "I was gone for a day?"

The woman nodded, "Asleep for another half of a day too." Her dark hair obscured her shoulders and made her face appear as if it were floating across from him over the fire. The wind howled viciously. It drowned out whatever she might have said as she looked away from him. Tifa dug inside the pack and handed him a ration bar. Moving nearer, she touched his arm, "Your skin is ice."

"I," Sephiroth cleared his throat, "I don't know where to begin."

"Are you okay?" Tifa placed a hand against his temple.

"That doesn't work, you know." Sephiroth quipped, "I feel like someone stitched me back together but did it the wrong way." He adopted a reproachful but playful air to mask his nerves. He still wasn't entirely himself.

"I know." She sighed and added, "Can't help it. Habit. Why don't you start from the beginning?" She wrapped his jacket around his shoulders. Her fingers lingered for a moment before falling to rest on her thighs.

Sephiroth struggled for the words to describe what he'd experienced, "I saw…no lived _her_ life. Every moment from beginning to end. Then, I met her." His voice fell off suddenly. That hadn't been quite sufficient. How did one tell an entire life?

Tifa looked away thoughtfully into the fire pit, "I think…that you were in the Lifestream. You disappeared into a sort of haze the moment you touched her crystal."

He nodded, "Perhaps." Sephiroth closed his eyes. He could see her still. Lucrecia's youthful face fell into soft wrinkles. She shrunk before him as she greyed. Then, she was _nothing_ — a scattering aura borne off on a dark gale. The man wrapped his arms around himself, "I helped her die. She begged for it. I don't know how I did it, but I extinguished what was left of Jenova's cells within her. I have all of her memories, but she was there…now she isn't." His voice fell off in spite of his best effort to rein in his emotions.

Tifa placed her hand on his, "It doesn't seem like it now, but you'll make it through this. I would like to know more about her if you're able to talk about it."

Sephiroth turned to her. Tifa had at some point donned her black Protector's jacket. Her knees were huddled against her chest. She was nearer to him than he'd ever allowed any other person to be. His gaze swept over her face, taking in her richly ridged lips and full cheeks before settling on her hooded, upturned eyes, which shimmered.

Lucrecia's last plea echoed through his mind, "When you find the someone that makes you happy…keep them close."

His pulse quickened. He grew incredibly aware of the small, gloved hand resting on his warmly. He knew what he felt.

"I'm sorry if it's too soon." Tifa drew her hand away, "I understand if you need time to process it."

 _No_. _Stay near me_. Sephiroth had wanted to say that as she scooted just a little ways away from him on the same side of the fire. A war raged within him. He shook his head, "No. I'm just thinking. She died when she was thirty. Young, but she lived fully. She was more than a Shinra scientist. She was a doctor…she agreed to Hojo's experiment because she wanted to help people."

" _That_ ," Tifa interjected, "I don't understand."

He forced down a response that would have been Lucrecia's and said, "They didn't know anything about Jenova, Tifa. You know that they thought it was an Ancient. All they saw was that its cells made things stronger and healthier — that it was effectively immortal. Sometime during the course of her research, Lucrecia lost her mother to cancer. The guilt of not having been there with her pushed her to look for medical applications to her work. She found barriers at every step. Hojo encouraged her to create a human subject to prove the merit to her idea."

"You." Tifa replied unblinkingly.

"Me."

Tifa yawned and looked up into the sky before speaking, "She seems …complicated."

Sephiroth shrugged, "Very. I'm not exaggerating when I say that she was a genius. Achieving so much, so young made it frustrating for her to have to leap over hurdles for what came easily to others." His gaze grew unsteady, and he lapsed into silence before changing the subject, "I think…I have a grandfather. Her father Spurius Lucretius lived and worked in Rocket Town. I wouldn't know if he was still alive."

Tifa sat straighter, all of the fatigue gone from her body. A large, infectious smile came over her, "We could look for him. Most of Shinra's personnel records were either destroyed, or the data has been scrambled. I tried finding out more about Lucrecia at one point, but as you can imagine, the records that existed were lost…would you know him if you saw him?"

Sephiroth nodded, "We resemble one another." He reached out to grasp her right forearm and squeezed it softly, "You should sleep. I'll take over the watch."

Tifa frowned, "Are you sure? You've only just come to…"

"I'm fine." he replied gruffly. She flashed him an odd look before shaking her head and replacing him on the sleeping mat.

He walked off a ways and stared down into the shoal. He sat on a large stone outcropping, forcing thoughts of Tifa out of his mind. He shuddered when his thoughts rested for the briefest of moments on Jenova. Having witnessed that lab in that other place, he wondered what else might be hovering above them. Sephiroth shook his head. There was this planet and the Insurrection. Jenova…the creature was gone.

A glowing blue bloom of moon jellyfish bobbed on the waves over an alabaster reef of coral. The waters beached chains of jellies across the length of the rounded coast. They spanned so far into the distance that even with his enhanced eyes, he could see no end to them. Sephiroth had never seen anything like it. More damage to the world? His suspicion drew a frown to his lips. Yes, there were enough terrestrial worries to occupy him.

Soon enough the amber fire of dawn blazed over the hills on the other side of the bay, and Tifa joined him. She stood a ways away and stretched to salute the sun. Her hands joined at the palms above her head, her body was an arrow. In a single fluid motion, she split her arms and dove forward like a swan. Her hands ghosted her shins before she moved into another series of movements.

Idleness was a word not in Sephiroth's vocabulary, but still he found it difficult this morning to put himself to work. His gaze flickered from the jellies' withering, gummy corpses to Tifa's rhythmic motions. Her chest rose and fell with a practiced evenness. With closed eyes, she balanced her knees onto the soft part of her forearms and lifted herself. He stood. There was something that he could be doing. Sephiroth rolled the mat and bound it to his pack. The fire had long since died.

"Good morning." Tifa greeted him as she busied herself with her own satchel, checking its pockets, "Skinning knife, flint, and water tablets. Okay, good to go. You?"

"Everything is accounted for." Sephiroth answered.

Tifa pointed to a steep incline that wound around the hill behind them, "Rocket Town is a week and a half away on foot. We have to go back the way we came to make it out of this bay."

They climbed slick grey stone. Fissures sprung up on the path where a traveler could hook a shoe and twist an ankle, and roots buried under the dirt could just as easily throw someone off the slope entirely. Tifa muffled a yawn, which she followed up with a quick curse, "Damn it." Sephiroth heard her stumble over something.

He turned, swatting a cloud of flies away from his face. He pushed the hair sticking to his forehead out of his eyes and asked, "Do you need to stop for a moment?" They'd been climbing for perhaps two hours now, and even he found the going miserable.

Tifa's sun-exposed face flushed. She panted slightly and shook her head, "I'm fine."

"There's no shame in it. You barely slept. We can stop if you need to rest."

She snorted, "Just keep your eyes to the path. There's nothing worse than stopping in the middle of a hill."

He slowed to match her pace, drawing another snort from the woman. The trail had narrowed so that neither of the two could walk side-by-side but rather were forced to climb with one leading the other. Sephiroth let Tifa pass him, wanting to keep her in his sights.

The woman grasped the cliff side with one hand, the other hovering over the expanse of the bay beneath them. Sephiroth kicked a pebble over the edge and watched it tumble noiselessly through the fog beneath them. As sure-footed as he felt, he reached for a vine to steady himself. Tiny rivulets turned dirt to mud as they neared a trickling waterfall. A large shadow swept over them.

"Stop." Sephiroth commanded with a hiss, "Put your back against the wall." He drew his blade.

He needn't have said anything, Tifa had already pressed herself to the rocks.

The form flew over them again. Dragon? No. It would have unleashed a volley of flame already. The monster let loose an unmistakable cry that was between a squawk and guttural hiss. Sephiroth caught a glimpse of jewel blue plumage and leathery skin.

"Zuu," He ran his hand against the broadsword.

"Shit." Tifa said, "These things always show up when you can't hit them."

The zuu flew fully into view and dove at them with its mighty yellow talons grasping for their flesh. The creature snapped its beak full of saw-like fangs. It whipped a long smooth tail into the stones above them. Both dodged the debris that fell onto the path. Tifa fired a wild spell at the creature that missed. The monster beat its mighty wings whipping up the wind and dust around them.

"I can't see." Tifa shouted. She rubbed her eyes, and the zuu seeing its opportunity reached out with its talons to seize her exposed limbs. On instinct, the martial artist dove further up the path. She slid on the slippery trail, falling very near the edge.

Sephiroth threw himself toward Tifa, but she was already on her feet.

"Sephiroth!" She called in a partial turn.

Fiery pain shot through his leg, and he felt the creature rend his flesh, tearing through the fabric of his pants. Sephiroth let out a hissing breath. He kicked at the beast. It dragged him from the edge before releasing him, tearing muscle as it went. Sephiroth's ears popped. He sailed through the air, his hair whipping about his face. The zuu squawked above him and spun toward him with extended claws. He saw Tifa's ruby eyes, now clear, go wide with panic. She'd thrown herself to her knees with her hands stretched out for his. Mere seconds had passed, but he was already too far.

He fell another several feet before he could grab a long branch protruding from the bare rock. The monstrous bird slammed itself into the cliff's side and snapped its maw at him. Gelatinous spittle dribbled down his forehead. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the zuu. He'd never seen one so…emaciated. Its bones jutted out from under its mangy feathers and indigo colored skin. Sephiroth pressed the breath out of his lungs. His sword dangled uselessly at his side. His mind ran over his inventory of materia. Runes flared through him. The clear sky darkened and grew cloudy. All around them, the air crackled with power. An ancient voice cried out in his mind from the glowing orb fixed in his armlet. His teeth chattered with the spell as he hailed the sky to unleash its fury, "Thundara!"

A flash pierced the zuu. Sparks rained down on the spell's caster, and a reverberating boom shook the hill. The beast's relentless claws slackened. Its smoking body broke the band of clouds below and disappeared.

The battle past him, Sephiroth registered Tifa's frantic shouting. The branch buckled beneath his weight, and he swung his legs backward and forward slowly to counterbalance the strain he placed on the wood. He sheathed his sword and found purchase with his free hand in another hole in the stone. Blood streamed freely from his torn leg. The pain drew a snarl to his lips. Go! His mind cried out to him. Shards dug into his palms and fingers as he flung himself upward. The added weight from the pack strapped to his back was negligible. He refused to die.

Sephiroth's skin itched at wounds knitted themselves anew. Tifa reached out to him, and he seized her hand. She seemed stronger than she ought to have been in the moment to heft him back onto stable ground.

Across from him, the woman shook. Sephiroth started to reach out toward her, but she waved him away, "It's the adrenaline. Your leg. Oh, it's healed, but are you okay?"

Her pupils dilated. He walked toward her, settled his hands on his shoulders, and leaned forward. Her heartbeat was as erratic as his own.

"Wha…" Tifa began.

He pressed his lips to hers. He couldn't die again…not now. Her eyes closed, and he felt her lay small, quivering palms against his chest. She sighed, deepening the kiss. He caressed her face with his left hand, tangling the right in her dark locks. It'd been a moment…a mere moment before she recovered her senses and pushed away from him.

"I…" Sephiroth looked to his feet, "That was inappropriate. Forgive me."

"W-we both just had a little shock, right? I'm…j-j-just relieved that you're alive." Tifa stammered. She seemed to find the limestone rock formation at her side suddenly very interesting.

"Tifa." He said with a sudden steadiness that he most certainly didn't feel, "This won't happen again."

"Good." She fiddled with her gloves before daring to look him in the eye, "You're okay though, right?"

He ran a hand through his hair. Mortified? Aghast? Bereft? All were apt descriptors for how he felt right now. He blinked, "I'm fine. Perfectly well. Let's move on."

* * *

A/N: Thank you for the reviews, everyone! This was a shorter one, but the next chapter will be up fairly soon. We'll delve into a very confused Tifa as the pair head to Rocket Town next time. To answer a question about this AU that I received, this story disregards the expanded universe (AC, Before Crisis, Crisis Core, and Dirge of Cerberus). Everything that happened in the original game is maintained with a few tweaks or expansions. So, Tifa still knows Vincent, and she's mentioned him before in an earlier chapter. Everything that Sephiroth knows about him is just witnessed from Lucrecia's perspective, which is very unreliable and limited toward the end of her life. I normally don't share what music I'm listening to while I'm writing, but _Head_ by DANA, a lesser known artist, was very fitting for how I perceive Sephiroth's state of mind right now. You can look it up under the Dazed channel on YouTube if you're interested. The music video is rather haunting.


	20. Chapter 19

Oblivion

* * *

Chapter 19

Prawns, Tifa cast an askew glance at her fingers underneath the stream. They'd gone pink with cold, discolored in places where they'd bruised. They couldn't afford to waste magic frivolously with so few rations. She'd been used to this once, but at long last her mostly domesticated body had begun to rebel. It was one thing to train or control monster populations near the city, but this was something else entirely. With shaking hands, the martial artist withdrew a canteen and held it underneath the water's edge.

"It's just a little ache," She whispered, scanning the horizon. Wilting clusters of wildflowers lay scattered across the heath. Tifa could name a few. Heather sprouted violet little flowers along a rust-colored stem in autumn. Through a child's eyes, she saw stocky Nibelheim girls in another place and time sway their sun-browned arms in the breeze. Haphazard purple crowns rested atop windswept pigtails. They sang a hymn that she couldn't quite remember — some throaty melody that danced up and down octaves.

Her eyes fell on another bright patch of golden blooms, gorse. Her mother would wind the prickles into wreaths and hang them over their fences when there was still pastureland in the mountain valleys. The old folks used to say that spirits would get tangled on the spines, and the ghastly wails that echoed between the canyons were their furious cries. Of that legacy, only dust remained.

This heathland had grown wild.

Where ranchers had once grazed chocobos, cattle, and sheep just a few years before, she and Sephiroth passed moss-devoured huts. Soft wood beams, holey with rot, protruded out of loam and soured the air with a moist, musty odor. Tifa couldn't bear to look between the mushroom-covered cinderblocks where the foundations of proud homes once sat. An odd branch would become more recognizable as a mud-reddened femur.

Things skittered through the grass that she couldn't see, and there was always that damned droning of black biting flies. Oblong red welts dotted her arms. She'd done enough scratching for her and Sephiroth both. Of course, his skin had remained…impeccable. Perhaps the mako in his blood kept pests at bay. Beneath the journey's strain, Tifa's thoughts had a way of getting away from her.

(His lips on hers — surprisingly softer than she might have imagined. Imagined? Her hands grazed clavicles then pectorals. A sculptor might have scratched him out of granite. What? His fingers against her skin, he buried the other hand in her hair. Her thoughts were nonsense. All she knew was sensation.)

Loneliness or stress — take your pick. Reliance on someone else when survival was the stake did something to you. She couldn't fathom what had possessed her to return that… _kiss_. What in blazes had possessed him to kiss her? A shaky laugh escaped her lips with a hiss, sounding as if it came from some animal in the brush. Her fighting gloves at her side, she watched the light glint off of her diamond wedding band underneath the water. She'd learned from the baker who'd overheard from everyone's favorite barman Blair De Souza who himself must have eavesdropped on Protector gossip how insistent Cloud had been on the princess cut for the stone. He didn't know why the cut was called that. Tifa had been just as ignorant, but he'd said — Tifa colored with shame at the thought — that she was his princess. That was years ago. Always lead-tongued with his feelings, Cloud wouldn't confirm the story when she confronted him on their first anniversary. He just looked away, patted her on the arm, and mumbled that he loved her.

"Nothing'll change that." She recalled him saying with unwavering conviction.

(Husband. Home. Life. She pushed off of him firmly but not enough to move him. The faintest red shaded his features. Beneath the dirt and blood, the sun at his back, and his hair all afire in the brilliance of the light, Sephiroth stared at her in a way she didn't dare ponder.)

It wasn't that she hadn't noticed the way his gaze seemed to linger or how his tone had softened. Other explanations just felt more obvious. Tifa screwed the second canteen's lid onto its body and dropped a purification tablet into the third after splashing her face. Neither of the two talked about it. Words like _yet_ seemed to stretch out ominously before her as if she could taste them. Why was this so difficult? She couldn't still her trembling hands.

Tifa chanced a glance over her shoulder. Up a slope, Sephiroth plucked a pheasant, its banded brown and white feathers scattered around his boots. He seemed thoroughly absorbed in the task, but Tifa had been with him long enough to know better. How had they gotten from there to _here_? His features open but penetrating, he never stopped observing — the land, the sky, the insects, the trees — _her_. She should have realized…how could she put it…the _change_ sooner. Always on the edge of hysteria, it was impossible to trust her judgment. Tifa heaved the bag onto her shoulder and trudged up to the gravelly plot where they'd made camp. The muscles in her legs tensed like rubber bands pulled too taut, and it took all her strength to suppress the low moan that threatened to escape her lips. She collapsed into a heap and sighed. Sephiroth left her the bedroll, electing instead to sit on folded over dry grass.

Tifa leaned forward and grabbed a handful of sloe berries they'd collected after coming across a blackthorn bush. The small purple fruits' tang pulled her lips into a pucker. These were better as liquor, Tifa thought, spitting dark pits into crackling embers. De Souza's warm, smoky pub filled her mind with its three house drafts and heart-stopping meals. A chill took ahold of her as she pictured ash in the shack's place.

"We're close, aren't we?" Sephiroth pulled another handful of feathers from his fowl.

Tifa jerked where she sat. She studied his bloody hands. The digits were long and slim, the fingernails, unusually even for how they'd been living these several weeks. She swatted at her neck and wiped her hand on her pant leg, "We'll be there tomorrow."

"Ah." Sephiroth's reply was muted. He examined his work, beheaded the bird, snapped its joints at the legs, and removed the tendons. His hand found her skinning knife again, "You may want to look away. I'm going to cut out the giblets."

"Country girl, remember? Doesn't bother me." Tifa murmured.

"Of course it doesn't." The hint of a smile ghosted his features before he grew serious, "I want you to know…that I admire you greatly."

Tifa spat another sloe pit into the flames. What the hell could she say to that? She gave a little horsey snort, "Can't imagine why."

"I'm a frank man, Tifa. When I have a thought, I speak my mind. I want to say this to you while I still can…"

"Sephiroth." Tifa raised hand. It shook. She dreaded what he might say. He was no longer predictable, and she had to chuckle at such a thought. When had she ever known him?

He shook his head, "Let me finish. You are bullheaded and reckless…at times to the point of lunacy. The moment I was gifted with this new chance at life, I could only think of my revenge. I hated you, Cloud…everyone, but you kept coming. It was only you…always you attempting to steer me to sense. You had…have every right to hate me. I destroyed your life, wrecked this world, and dragged you from your home in the midst of a war. I don't deserve what you've done for me. You're a remarkable woman, Tifa. I…"

His gaze grew warm. Tifa frowned. She rubbed her hands against her calves, trying to worry away the nerves that'd taken hold of her limbs, "Don't idealize me, Sephiroth. Get to know me more, and you'll see that there's nothing special here."

"I don't believe that."

The setting sun made Sephiroth's mako gaze positively halogen-like. His long silvery hair glowed. Tifa looked away and wound a stray blade of grass around her index finger. A banded woolly bear caterpillar inched over her nail. She flicked it off before answering, "Everyone has that line — that line, which when crossed makes you stop being a person."

Tifa stared straight ahead into the yellow rolling flames. Sephiroth butchered the bird into rough cuts — wings, breasts, and thighs. Sizzling flesh dripped oily fat granules. The fire snapped and groaned. A log collapsed. Her right hand grazed the unseen tattoo on her hip, "I kept it to remind myself what it was like to forget where that boundary was. I tossed a man headfirst over a freeway overpass when I was eighteen. At first, I fought for the Kings because I was afraid of what they'd do to me if I tried to get out of the life, but after a while, I just stopped caring."

"What happened?" Sephiroth leaned forward from where he sat.

Tifa waved smoke from her eyes, "Avalanche came to town. They didn't fight for things that the other gangs wanted. Money…an _in_ with the big men upstairs…nothing shook them. Their message was simple. The planet was dying. Our communities were turning against themselves, and Shinra was the culprit. I think it scared Korol. He was a master at the game, but they were playing an entirely different sport. Avalanche's leader, Barret, started to make people believe."

"And, you?"

"I started to believe that I was more than a pair of fists. It wasn't just trading one crew of outlaws for another. Avalanche was so much more than a group of anti-Shinra agitators. They scrapped together whatever resources they could to help people. Korol sent me to them to infiltrate, but after a month, it was obvious where my allegiance stood. I found out who…what I was meant to be. Maybe that's why I can see the same in you. Like I said, I'm nothing special. I just had someone believe in me enough to help me along my way."

Sephiroth snorted, "And, you say that you aren't special. We've both endured more than any one person ought to bear, but what broke me, you overcame. My friendship with Zack, my convictions…my own strength ought to have kept me grounded, but it wasn't enough. I don't know how to say this." He bit the corner of his lips and drew a sharp intake of breath, "I feel a certain attachment to you…more than I should."

 _There._ Tifa rubbed her sticky hands before the fire. Say something, her mind cried out at her. She wasn't sure whether she was holding in laughter or tears. It was completely unbelievable, but there it was. Why her? As he stared at her, exhaustion crept over her like a trail of ants. It started at her toes, which throbbed, and rushed up her ankles until it reached her crown. Her temples pulsed. Her mind was static. There was so much — too much happening.

 _Goddammit, say something. Just look at him._ She said, "Are you saying that you're attracted to me, Sephiroth?"

Of course he is, stupid, a chorus of internal voices mocked her.

"Yes…I believe that I am." His tone wavered.

She ought to have rebuffed him immediately. By Gaia, she was happily married.

 _Complacently married_ , a new voice whispered.

Tifa adopted a scandalized expression that her mentee, Janine, called the "chocobo with wet down feathers" stare before immediately relaxing her features. She couldn't hurt her friend. This must have been too bizarre and new for him.

"I am flattered, really, Sephiroth, but I can't return your attraction." She paused for moment, thinking of how to proceed without sounding patronizing, "I think that we've both been through a lot these past few weeks, you especially."

A warm laugh greeted her ears, but his face remained expressionless. She may as well have told him that he'd someday meet a nice girl elsewhere. Sephiroth had never looked more like his father in that moment as he studied her, "I shouldn't have burdened you with this. The Insurrection and its espionage are the most pressing issues at hand."

"No." Tifa raised a hand. How she ached to touch his shoulder to comfort him, but that might encourage the wrong sort of response, "I appreciate your honesty."

She slept fitfully that night, her dreams wild.

* * *

Ice-brittle palms fronds shattered the moment they struck pavement. Dates rotted in clumps. Green mangoes shriveled. It was August, a week past Cloud's birthday and the wedding. Already her old identity, Ms. Lockheart, had faded as Tifa became someone new. She wrapped her shawl tighter around her frame, doing little to shield herself from the cold wind that blew off the raging sea. What did it mean to be a wife? She and Cloud had made love frenziedly, frantically in the days that followed Meteor's fall. They drowned, died in one another. Each searched for something that stayed perpetually just beyond reach. It shouldn't have surprised her six months past the point that he'd proposed.

She heard footsteps on the stairs and turned, expecting her husband. No, it was only Shera. The bespectacled woman smiled shyly at the other. She fingered the seam of her gold cocktail dress against her thigh and patted down her stiff auburn curls. Shera couldn't have looked more unlike the mousy aeronautics engineer that she was. She rubbed her arms, goosebumps standing out against her bare biceps, "Oh, is this where you've gone? Everyone is looking for you. How can you stand it out here? It's freezing."

Tifa grinned and stepped inside the bedroom pulling the glass door shut behind her, "I needed the air. Your pineapple upside cake saved the day. I can't thank you enough."

Shera beamed graciously, "Oh shucks, don't thank me. Thank the miracle that is canned fruit. I don't know how we would've managed otherwise. And besides, the party would be nothing without its stunning bride. Are you alright? Tifa, you…ah, look a little pale."

"Just getting used to things. I still can't believe it. Me, Mrs. Strife." Tifa sat on the bench across from her bed and motioned for Shera to join her, patting the cushion at her side.

Shera sat, "It'll pass, but nothing will ever feel like this moment."

Tifa wasn't sure what she felt. The proposition had been so sudden, so unexpected. The ceremony followed almost as rapidly. She wrung her hands. Perhaps, this was how love felt…some big unknowable something that just dazed you. She always imagined that it would be different, that she'd be able to name it at once. Yet, it remained as mysterious as it had ever been even as Cloud hefted his weight over hers, running his hands across the length of her body, and breathed her name against her skin. She couldn't have been more fortunate.

"These guys, huh. They really deserve us. You know, Cid and Cloud."

Shera chewed her lip and flashed Tifa a raised brow, "Well, I…ah…suppose so. What do you mean?"

Tifa wasn't sure what she meant. She tried to find the right way of saying it, "After everything, I guess. Meteor, Shinra, and the like." If it wasn't true for Cid, then it certainly had been for Cloud. She remembered how he needed her on the last night before they fought Sephiroth after he'd sent everyone off to search for a reason to fight. He'd sighed into her ear how their vow had kept him going. That silly old thing between kids bantering on an old water tower had become so much more. Cloud called that moment his anchor. She…she hadn't been sure what it was any longer to her. That promise beneath the stars had become too difficult to see as anything other than a possible life on a path that'd long diverted from hers. She'd hardly been the same girl that Cloud left in their hometown, but after everything and with a future so uncertain, she could learn to love him.

She took Shera's hand and squeezed it, "Let's go back downstairs. Let's see if I can coax Mr. Strife to dance." She stood and unlashed the drapes to the balcony. Ashen snow fell in clumps, covering the sidewalks. A smoky chill ebbed through the cracks. She grabbed the heavy fabric from either side of the door and pulled it over the glass, plunging the room into shade.

* * *

Damn all dreams. Why did it have to be that memory?

Dusk had settled when they came upon the road. Deep tire treads had widened the red dirt path.

"These are military vehicle tracks." Sephiroth leaned over the path, measuring the width of the pattern against his palm, "They lead away from the city, back out southeast."

"We could make for the gully west of here." Tifa suggested, "If memory serves me right, there're few farmhouses out that way."

"And then?" Sephiroth said, glancing her way. He'd already set off in long strides for the gully ahead of her.

Where did he get the energy? She could barely keep pace at this point. Her limbs felt like pulsating pudding. She patted both thighs, attempting to stir some life back into them, "And then…I'll call Vincent."

"Just like that? You've been missing for several weeks."

She sighed. Tifa loathed admitting that she hadn't thought that far in advance, but whatever plan she concocted seemed more farfetched than the last, "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it."

Sephiroth shook his head, and Tifa couldn't help but feel the slightest twinge of irritation rise in the pit of her belly.

She folded her arms and immediately regretted doing so. Someone may as very well stuck a hot poker between her shoulder blades, "What do you expect me to do? You should…you should just leave. Live your life."

Sephiroth stopped short and turned, looking as if she'd spat on him, "Out of the question. I made a vow."

She was sick to death of men and their promises. She was too sore for her usual damn-the-odds optimism, "Fine." She couldn't manage to say anything more.

The two soon came upon a green barn house in need of painting. Further off in the field, yellow chocobos dozed in the early night. Peering past the porch through the screen door, Tifa could already imagine the home's warmth. A buttery glow spilled over the shallow stair and onto a well-maintained herb patch. She signaled to Sephiroth to find cover, and he slunk off around the way toward an open stable.

An aroma of spearmint filled the air as she waded closer through the knee-high reeds. The step creaked underneath her boots. She raised a hand to the door and paused, considering the moment. This was it. She could hear a television, the nightly news playing somewhere further off in the house. Dishes clattered. She rapped at the door.

"Billy, is that you?" A grey voice called. A wispy elderly woman crept slowly into view, with a cane clutched in one hand. She raised a hand to her mouth the moment her eyes met Tifa's, "My goodness, i-i-it's you! You're alive."

"More or less." Tifa said lowly and added, "Ma'am, I need to use your PHS urgently. It's PF business."

"Why, yes, yes of course. Come in out from the cold. Well, look at you. You look positively undone, dearie." The woman ushered her indoors and showed her to the kitchen.

Tifa didn't need further urging to fall into the offered seat. The woman extended a cordless PHS to her, and Tifa fought to steady her hands. They'd begun to shake again. She struggled for a moment to remember Vincent's number. He seemed to be the right choice over Cid. Well, that's what she prayed.

The line rung for several long minutes, and she wondered if all of Avalanche had already been assembled on the coast. Had this journey been wasted?

"Valentine." Vincent's voice was like a balm to her ears.

"As he lives and breathes." Tifa's voice quivered on the line, "By Gaia, is it good to hear a friend again."

"Tifa…?"

"Yes, it's me. I'm alive and well enough."

"I have to tell-"

"No!" Tifa cried, "Don't tell anyone that you're speaking to me."

"What's going on, Tifa. Are you being held somewhere?"

"Nothing like that." The woman said quickly, "Listen. Please. I just need you to come out down by the Southern pass. Meet me at the Blue Gulch."

"What? Why? Tifa, are you being confined? If you are…just work the word Junon into your conversation. I am already…"

"I'm fine. Please, Vincent. Come alone. I've recovered intel on the Insurrection, but there have been some complications."

 _Understatement_.

She stayed on the PHS for another five minutes and still wasn't sure that she had Vincent entirely convinced that she wasn't bound in someone's trunk at the moment. Well, this was her gamble. All she could do was wait.

* * *

After several months an update. Whew! I started a new job at an arts nonprofit that is consuming my life but is enjoyable. Hopefully, I'll have a faster turnaround on the next chapter.

Update: On the suggestion of one of my awesome reviewers, I threw in page breaks around the dream scene. I'd originally added them in but removed them. :)


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